


Stupid Portal

by elementalv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-18
Updated: 2003-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 88,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Spike get sucked into a ’verse not their own. Giles follows. Prophecy happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Clean, Well-Lighted Place

**Author's Note:**

> This story goes AU pretty much in the second paragraph. In terms of where in the Buffy timeline it takes place, think season six in place of _Dead Things_. And as long as I'm going AU anyway, I'm gonna change a few other things as well (but not the fact of the Season Six _Spike and Buffy Sex Hour_).
> 
> One other thing — Giles and Tara stammer. It's acceptable on TV, but in writing, it's painful. You'll see little evidence of it in this story.

They fought with the intensity of two predators determining who would win a tasty piece of meat. Whether the meat was for food or sex was still up in the air. What was not in question was their total focus on each other. Their focus was so complete than neither noticed the light show forming around them.

He flipped her so she landed on her back, slightly dazed. When he came to stand over her, she lifted her legs to kick him back. The sound of plastic colliding with metal just barely registered on her consciousness. She didn’t notice the suddenly bright area, because she was too determined to have the last word in this argument.

She stalked over to him — he had hit his head when he landed — and lifted him by the front of his shirt to drag him back into the fight. At that point, he started struggling. “Blood hell, Sl —”

He was interrupted by a tall, vicious-looking demon. It seemed to be saying something, but all she heard was growling. And he was pointing something at them. Great. A demon with a toy. Just what she needed tonight. She dropped Spike, then rushed the intruder, kicking out to get the thing out of its hand. Her aim was a little off, though, and she ended up kicking the hand instead (nice, satisfying crunch to that). No matter. It let go of the toy.

It screamed its outrage and defiance, and the battle was on. The prelude with Spike had been a nice warm-up to this unexpected main event. Give the demon its due, it knew how to fight. It was using moves she hadn’t seen before. She took careful note of them, so she could counter them. And practice them in training.

They fought for several minutes, though given their mutual intensity, it could have been days. She heard voices — some raised in anger, others quieter — but for the most part, she shut them out. It was then that she saw it. There was a weakness in one of its attacks. It wasn’t much of a weakness, but it was the only one she’d seen. She maneuvered the demon back into position for it to use the move again, and when it did, she took the opening.

It worked far better than she could have hoped. It was on its knees and she was on its back, twisting its head to break the neck when —

“Slayer, NO!”

She froze instantly, then looked around for him. She wasn’t happy with the interruption. “Demon!” She wasn’t angry. Inarticulate rage was closer to the mark.

“Not.” He pointed to something, and she looked to see.

“What?”

“Look.” Why did he have to sound like a teacher dealing with a dim-witted child?

“So?”

“Buffy — what do you see?” She hated it when he used that tone of voice. It reminded her of Giles when at his most sarcastic.

“Seven humans, a couple of demons and one that might be a demon.”

He blinked, then looked again. “Which is the one that might be a demon?”

“Black curly hair, big black eyes. Might be a witch, but she kind of reminds me of that guy Cordy dated in Pylea. She said he had big black eyes, but he looked mostly human.”

On a bark of laughter, he said, “Who’d be dim enough to go out with Cordelia?”

From her position on the back of the demon, she smiled sweetly and said, “I don’t know. Maybe someone dim enough to date Cordelia’s bestest high school buddy. Gee. Who was that again?”

“You’re one to talk. Do I really need to mention Parker? And you’re still threatenin’ to kill that bloke,” he added the last, just in case she’d forgotten.

She looked at him in disbelief and said, “‘Bloke?’ Now you’re best buddies with it?”

“No, but killing him won’t be on the agenda tonight,” he said as he patted his pockets, looking for smokes.

“Why not?” She still hadn’t relaxed her position. She was ready to twist its neck as soon as Spike got to whatever point he was wandering around.

“Some Chosen One you are. Look at what they’re wearing.” He found the pack and his lighter, then tapped out a cigarette, packing it down on the hard pack.

She looked again. There were different colors, but they all wore the same uniform. Except for the might-be demon — she was wearing some godawful purple unitard.

“Now look at what your bloke’s wearing,” he said in a slow sing-song designed for maximum snark. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and lit it.

She looked down. He had on the same kind of uniform as the others. “So? Maybe they’re a branch of the Initiative.”

He growled. “No, you stupid bint! They are _not_ Initiative. Fer Chrissakes, you’ve known Harris how long and you still haven’t put two and two together? How many times has he dragged you sorry lot over for a marathon?”

She looked puzzled at first, then comprehension dawned slowly. “Oh. Which one is this?”

“I think it’s the second — yep. There’s the wanker with the beard. It’s the second one.”

She looked down at the demon — no, it’s a Klingon? — and said, “Um, Spike? Suggestions?”

“You got a tiger by the toe, pet. If he hollers, let him go,” he said before he burst out laughing.

“You don’t need to be so amused by this. Dammit.” She took a deep breath. No one was moving.

She took another deep breath, then said to it — him, “Look, I don’t want to kill you. I thought you were something else. I didn’t realize you were — well — that you’re — Look, I suck at apologizing.”

“Got that right,” Spike said as he doubled over.

“Shut up, Spike.” Another deep breath, then try again. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to let you go. I won’t try to kill you, if you won’t try to kill me.”

Long silence, then, in a voice deeper than the Hellmouth, “Today is a good day to die. You are a worthy adversary. I am honored to meet my death at your hands.”

She looked up at the others, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Is he kidding? He’s kidding, right?”

The one with the beard said, in a disgusted tone of voice, “No. He’s not kidding. He means it.”

“But I don’t want to kill him,” she said in an almost-whine. “If I’d known he wasn’t a — It was a mistake — on my part. And I’m sorry about that. But I won’t let go of him if he’s just gonna try and kill me.”

The guy with the beard — what the hell was his name, and why couldn’t Xander be here instead of Spike? — nodded and said, “Worf, agree to her terms.”

“No. Today is an _excellent_ day to die,” he said with a feral grin.

“Worf!”

“I will not!” Worf was starting to feel offended by his crewmates’ lack of understanding. Never before had he met anyone to match the pure fury on his back.

Buffy wanted to kick him, but she couldn’t do it without moving from her position and freeing him. She also wanted very much to kick Spike, who was literally rolling on the floor now, laughing his ass off.

She looked up at the bearded guy, waiting for him to make an order or something. Then the woman in the unitard stepped forward and said, “Worf, it was a mistake. She’s already acknowledged that. She doesn’t want to kill you. In fact, she’s rather embarrassed by all this.”

“Hey!”

“She is a worthy adversary. I’ve never met any like her before and will not again. I am honored to die at her hands.” Buffy was starting to get the idea that maybe he was enjoying this a little too much. _Friggin’ drama queen._

She looked at Beardy and said, “You’re not the in-charge guy, are you?”

“Balls! Can’t you get anything to settle in that brain of yours that’s other’n slayin’?” Spike’s disgust was palpable. “The word, pet, is _captain_. D’you think you could possibly remember that?”

“Shut up, Spike,” she said without turning to look at him. “So. You’re not the captain, right? Maybe the captain could convince him.”

The look on Beardy’s face didn’t bode well for Worf. Still, he did tap that brooch and say, “Riker to Captain Picard.”

“Yes, Number One?” The voice came out of hidden speakers. Buffy turned to Spike with a horrified look on her face and mouthed _Number one???_ It just made him laugh all the harder.

“We have a situation in shuttle bay two. Your presence is required.”

Buffy wondered if Beardy had a baseball bat up his ass.

“On my way. Picard out.”

She looked at the uniforms standing in the doorway. The gold one was holding something in his hand. He pointed it at Buffy, but the look on her face convinced him to lower it. He said, “This is a tricorder. It is not a weapon.”

She knew he was probably telling the truth. One of the reasons Xander liked the series so much was that everyone was honest and everything on the ship was nice and clean. Still — “What’s it do?”

“It allows me to gather information about lifeforms and inorganic objects. I simply wanted to determine your species.”

“Human.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” he answered in an even tone. Spike, who had started to calm down finally, burst into a fresh peal of laughter.

“Shut UP, Spike!” It was said in stereo by Buffy and Beardy — Riker.

“Likely or not, I am,” she said defensively.

“If I may?” he asked, holding it up.

She rolled her eyes, sighed, then said, “Fine. Whatever. But one wrong move —” She ignored the thoughtful expression on Unitardy’s face.

Goldy considered her statement, then said, “I understand. There will be no ‘wrong’ moves. But I need to be somewhat closer.”

“No closer than five feet.”

“Agreed.” She was impressed. There was no hesitation, no waffling, no bargaining. He pointed the recorder at her and walked around the two of them in a circle that maintained the agreed-to five-foot distance. His face showed absolutely no expression when the circle was complete and he was looking at the readings.

“Well?”

“You are, indeed, human. But your strength and speed are anomalous. As is the fact that you have maintained that precise position for five minutes without so much as a twitch. If you were a normal human, you would be experiencing muscle fatigue by now.”

“What can I say? I live clean, eat right and brush my teeth every night,” she answered in the same sunshine-up-your-ass tone that used to make Giles crazy.

“Bollocks! You call what you do to me livin’ clean? You’re enough t’make Caligula blush,” Spike said.

“Remind me to stake you when we get back home.”

“Hmm...that would be a bit of good, gettin’ you back into that strap-on...”

She let loose with a snarl that set Worf’s blood humming and zinging through his veins. It didn’t matter that she was human. She was fierce. She was a warrior. She would have made an excellent mate. But he would die today. He was certain of it.

In the midst of the byplay and snarling, the door to the shuttle bay opened, and the master of the vessel stepped through. He took everything in at a glance. He didn’t speak loudly, but everyone — including Spike, amazingly enough — shut up when he said, “May I ask why my chief of security is about to have his neck broken?”

Beardy — Riker — remember that! — said, “Ensign Baylor, Troi and Data were working in here when they noticed an anomaly. Data called for security, and by the time Worf and I arrived, these two had fallen through the disturbance. They were fighting. When Worf told them to stop or he would fire, the woman disarmed him. They fought, and she — she gained the advantage.”

Buffy just barely kept the gloating off her face. She seemed to remember Xander telling her one time that a Klingon could take her down in hand-to-hand. Riker was still talking and said, “She was about to deliver the killing blow when the man stopped her. She admits to making a mistake and wants to end the standoff, but Worf keeps saying it’s a good day to die. He won’t accept her apology.”

The captain took a deep breath — hard enough to draw his nostrils closed — then blinked. He looked at Buffy and said, “You disarmed him?”

“Um...yeah.”

“You disarmed a Klingon male in the prime of his life?”

Spike started snorting, though to be fair, it was because he was trying not to laugh. “Well. Yeah. But I didn’t know he wasn’t a de — I thought he was something else. I just want to let go and know he won’t try to kill me, but he’s not agreeing to it,” she said, glaring at Worf’s ear.

“Mr. Worf? Agree to her terms,” he said quietly.

“No. Today is a good —”

“I don’t recall giving you an option, Lieutenant.”

“But, sir!” One look from the captain had him growling, “Agreed.”

Buffy was impressed. The captain never once raised his voice. He didn’t even glare. Giles would be impressed. Geez — what the hell was she thinking? Giles hated this show. She let go of Worf’s head slowly. Just because he agreed to her terms didn’t mean he might not take a swipe at her as she stepped away.

At last, she could step back to the questionable comfort of Spike’s presence. She kicked him to get him to stop giggling. “Oi!”

No one spoke. Finally, Data said, “I am confused, Commander Riker. You referred to a second intruder, but I only see one — the young woman who very nearly killed Worf.”


	2. Getting To Know You

Spike wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful that neither the Data-bot nor the ship’s systems recognized his existence. He’d gotten used to the lack of a reflection over the decades, but this was something else. Hell, even the digital cameras back home could recognize him, so it didn’t make sense that this lot couldn’t.

At the moment, he and Buffy were parked on one of the cartons in the room where they’d landed. He was enjoying the chaos created by Data’s inability to see or hear him, but he could tell Buffy was getting bored. And when Buffy got bored —

“Geez. Is this all they do around here? Don’t they have planets to blow up or something?” She was starting to fidget.

“It’s all about discovering strange new lifeforms, pet, and you gotta admit, I’m stranger’n most,” he said as he started looking for his cigarettes out of habit. He muttered, “Bugger it,” when he remembered they’d taken his smokes away.

“To be a lifeform, you have to be alive. You’re more of a deathform. And a smelly one at that. When was the last time you took a bath?”

“You’re one to talk. Got bits of twigs and dirt in your hair, and there’s a dead bug on your back,” he said, offended by her comments about his personal hygiene.

“Ew! Gross! Get it off,” she said a bit shrilly as she turned her back to him.

“Christ! You get covered in demon gore on a daily basis and one dead bug makes you squeamish? Some Slayer you are,” he said, picking the bug off and showing it to her.

She shuddered, complete with sound effects, then said, “Get rid of it. Yuck.”

Spike flicked it at Data, who stood a few feet away watching Buffy speak to thin air. He frowned when the bug hit him on the nose, but caught it before it dropped. Buffy was amused when the android put the bug in front of the tricorder instead of complaining about Spike’s behavior.

She said, “Data? You’re not even gonna demand an apology from Spike?”

He looked up from the tricorder and said, “What purpose would such a demand serve? Aside from the fact that I am incapable of experiencing offense, I am also incapable of hearing Spike make an apology.”

“I could always make him write, ‘I will not taunt Data,’ on a blackboard a thousand times. If you have blackboards here. Do you? Ooh! Maybe you use whiteboards instead. Either way, he ends up with a serious case of writer’s cramp for flicking that dead bug at you,” she said, quite happy with her solution.

“Oi!” It wasn’t serious, though. It had been too long since he’d seen this side of Buffy, and he was enjoying it.

Data’s expression wasn’t precisely puzzled, but it was clear that he was having a bit of difficulty in processing Buffy’s comments. He started to speak once or twice, but eventually decided to review the conversation later. Perhaps he would ask Geordi for his input. For the moment, he decided on the safer course of, “Punishment is unnecessary. I would, however, appreciate it if you could tell me about Spike. I am particularly interested as to which species he belongs. It may help me in resetting both my and the ship’s sensors.”

He watched as Buffy turned her head, presumably to look at Spike, and have a non-verbal communication. Had he been capable of experiencing frustration, he would have. Non-verbal communication was of particular interest to him these days, and he took every opportunity to watch it. He felt that with sufficient observation and practice, he might be able to interpret it one day.

After a few minutes she shrugged then turned back to Data and said, “You won’t believe me.”

It was not the answer he expected. “Why do you say that?”

“‘Cause most people don’t believe in myths even when they bite them on the ass,” she said, her lips twitching when Data involuntarily turned to look at his own haunches. She was enjoying this conversation entirely too much. Data’s confirmation of her humanity aside, maybe Spike was kind of right when he said she came back wrong.

Data cocked his head slightly and asked, “Is Spike a myth? And has he bitten me on my — ass?”

“That was mean, Slayer. You shouldn’t ought to have a battle of the wits with an unarmed person,” he said in a low voice. Data might not be able to hear him, but the others certainly could.

She elbowed Spike in the ribs and said to Data, “No. It was just an expression. He hasn’t bitten you. He wouldn’t. You’re not his cup of blood.”

He said nothing, so she continued, “Spike’s a vampire.”

*****

Three hours later, Spike was roundly cursing Buffy for her complete lack of tact. They’d been interviewed separately and together, both by the half-human counselor (and what he wouldn’t give for a taste of her, just to see how different she was from a full human) and by the wanker with the beard. Looking at Buffy, he demanded, “You couldn’t have kept it to yourself?”

He was pacing back in forth in Sickbay, wearing an utterly stupid-looking blue coverall. They’d taken away his jeans, shirts and leather duster for some kind of testing, and he wasn’t pleased with what they’d given him to wear. The only things holding him in check were the dirty looks both Worf and Buffy were shooting at him. He had no doubt the Klingon would cheerfully dismember him if he stepped too far out of line.

“They already knew something was up. It was easier just to tell them straight out,” she said, shrugging off his concerns. “Anyway, it makes it easier to explain your liquid red diet.”

“Notice you weren’t makin’ an effort to explain how you could make the Klingon look a fool,” he said snidely as he looked at Worf. Spike had already picked up on his interest in Buffy, and he’d be damned if he’d put up with competition from something that wasn’t even real.

“I did _not_ look a fool,” Worf said in a half-growl. “I was defeated in honest combat by a superior warrior. There is nothing more honorable.”

“Oh. So you weren’t ready to meet your maker just ‘cause a little-bitty woman beat the snot out of you? Can’t imagine the boys on the homeworld would be too understandin’ about a _human_ gettin’ the best of you.” He watched as the comments hit their mark, amused by just how fast the Klingon’s heart rate had gone up.

Too bad the wanker had to interfere, right when it was getting interesting. “Worf! Stand down,” Riker said as he glared at Spike. To Buffy, he said, “Can’t you keep him under control?”

She looked at him as she patted herself down and said, “Gee. Fresh out of stakes. Otherwise, I’d be happy to take care of him.”

“There will be no jokin’ about stakes,” Spike said, appalled at the direction his teasing had taken.

“Then leave Woof alone,” she said.

“Worf!”

“Whatever,” she told Worf, adding, “Anyway, just ignore him. It’s what the rest of us do.” She’d mangled his name on purpose, hoping he would lose interest in her. It was bad enough she was sleeping with a vampire again, but at least he’d started out as human. She didn’t want to think about what Giles would do if she started dating completely out of her species.

The thought of Giles reminded her of just how much she’d left behind when they fell through the rabbit hole. Aside from her job, she was scheduled to go in for a parent-teacher conference the next week. Dawn was doing better, but the conference could go either way. She really didn’t want a surprise visit from Social Services while she was stuck in one of Xander’s fantasies. In a voice only Spike could hear, she said, “Crap.”

_Damn. What the hell happened to fluffy Buffy?_ He stepped over to her and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, asking, “What’s wrong, pet?”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief, and she pushed his hand away. “What’s _wrong_?” To emphasize the error of his question, she smacked him on the side of his head. It wasn’t enough to send him across the room, but he thought he might end up with a headache.

“What the hell’d you do that for?” He held his hand up to his head and said, “All I did was ask a question! About you!”

“It was a stupid question,” she answered, her voice rising in volume. “You claim you love me, but you can’t even figure out why I might be just a _little_ upset right now?”

“Oh please. Like you haven’t dreamed of leaving Sunnyhell and the rest behind. I can just see you pinin’ away for that crap job.”

“That crap job lets me pay the bills my little sister — you do remember Dawn, don’t you? — anyway, that crap job lets me pay the bills she generates just by her need to eat. And wear clothes. And have a place to sleep at night. So yeah, I’m kind of upset about that. But really? I’m more upset about the fact that while I’m here, Dawn’s there,” she said.

At some point during her tirade, Buffy had hopped off the diagnostic bed and stood toe to toe with Spike, poking him in the chest with each point. He wasn’t backing off, but the poking was starting to get painful, since she was hitting the same spot every time. And she was loud enough to make the wanker nervous. Spike tried to calm her down.

“C’mon, Slayer. Don’t make the boys with their toys nervous,” he said, taking a quick glance at Picard to see how close he was to tossing them in jail. Or the brig. Whatever the hell they called it.

“What difference does it make? It’s not like any of this is real,” she said with a sour look around her.

“Was real enough when you were beatin’ up the Klingon.”

“I don’t care. I want to go home,” she said, hating the whine in her voice. _When did I become such a cry-baby? Oh yeah. Right around the time I dug myself out of my grave._

“Right. Like you’re all that anxious to see Red, Demon Girl and Dough Boy,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“Xander isn’t _that_ big,” she said, frowning.

“Scuse me? The whelp could feed a flock of fledges without even passin’ out, he’s got so big. What’s Anya tryin’ to do? Get him so fat he can’t run before the weddin’?” He measured his words and tone carefully. He wanted to wind her up enough to keep her from slipping back into depression, but not so much that she started looking for a piece of wood to shove through his heart.

“You are such a pig! You have absolutely no —”

“ENOUGH!” Picard pulled them apart and said, “I’m sick and tired of your constant bickering.” He turned Spike roughly and pointed to a bed, saying, “Spike. Sit. Be quiet. Not another word.”

Buffy smirked and started to add something, but Picard turned on her and said, “Don’t. Whatever you were about to say, don’t. Sit. Be quiet. The next person to say just one word will land in the brig.”

Buffy and Spike, in unison, said, “But —”

“That’s the word.”


	3. Jailhouse Rock

It was more than an hour after he had Riker and Worf escort the pair to the brig before Picard could get back to Sickbay for a preliminary report. Much of that time had been spent in an informal inspection of his ship. He was partly driven by the need to assure himself that everyone on board as well as the ship itself were in top condition. The other part had to do with how easily the young woman had defeated Worf. If she could do that to a Klingon, what else might she do?

He walked into Sickbay, acknowledging the staff and patients as he headed toward Beverly’s staff room. When Picard sat down across from her, he gave her a long, hard look and said, “What, precisely, is Spike?”

She gave him an equally long look before answering, “Spike is a vampire.”

“Unacceptable,” he said. He didn’t shout, but his tone of voice made it clear that she should come up with a different answer immediately.

“Fine,” she said, the word clipped to within a hair’s breadth of its life. “He’s not a vampire. He’s a walking, talking corpse. And when he’s hungry — for human blood, mind you — his face metamorphoses. He was kind enough to demonstrate so I could look at his fangs.” She gave him an arch look and added, “Given that there’s nothing in the _scientific_ database like him, would you like the honor of naming his species?”

He ignored her last question and latched on to one word. “Why do you call him a corpse? You said none of your instruments work on him.”

“No, they don’t,” she said in a low voice. Picard mentally winced. She only spoke like that when she was ready to disembowel someone. “But amazingly enough, my hands, eyes, ears and nose all function fine. Spike has no pulse. He has no pulse, because his heart doesn’t beat. The only time he draws air is when he’s about to say something —”

“Perhaps —”

“No. I don’t know what you were about to say, but no. At Buffy’s suggestion, I replicated a stethoscope and a sphygmomanometer to try and get a circulatory reading on him. The instruments worked fine on my staff and on Buffy, but they registered absolutely nothing on Spike.” She paused to draw breath.

“But what about —”

“Then I decided to try other archaic medical devices, including an electrocardiogram and an electroencephalogram. Both measure electrical activity. Would you like to take a guess as to what the results were?”

Picard hadn’t planned on speaking again. She was in a foul mood because of his own behavior when he first sat down. Still, she was waiting for an answer. “Negative?”

“You’re only half right. There were no electrical impulses coming from his heart, but there was significant activity in his brain,” she said. After a brief pause, she added, “Go ahead. Ask me if his brain waves resembled any of the lifeforms we have in the database.”

“I don’t think I need to.” He sighed and said, “Vampire? You’re certain?”

“If it looks, walks and talks like a duck, it’s a duck,” she said, relenting at last into a normal tone of voice. “Both he and Buffy identified him as such, and I haven’t been able to find anything to contradict their assertion. I’m still trying to get over the fact that I checked to see if he cast a reflection as part of my examination of him. And Troi told me that as far as Buffy is concerned, she was telling the truth.”

“Buffy? What about Spike?” He frowned as he thought about what the omission likely meant.

“Troi couldn’t —”

“Riker to Picard.”

With a glance at Beverly, he answered, “Yes, Number One?”

“We have a problem. Could you join us in the brig?”

He closed his eyes. Beverly thought he might be praying for patience. “On my way. Picard out.”

*****

Buffy was bored. _Really_ bored. Sure, she might bitch about slaying, but the fact was, she loved it. She loved the anticipation. She loved the chase. She loved the uncertainty of it all. She hadn’t loved any of it just after the resurrection. In the weeks following her return to the Hellmouth, slaying had just been the same-old, same-old. When she thought about it, she realized that in addition to giving her mind-blowing orgasms, Spike had, somehow, returned the love of the hunt to her.

They were in separate cells, but their cages were perpendicular, so she could see him. He was pacing and muttering, “I’m hungry.”

The security officer said, “There is a replicator in your cell, sir. You can order any kind of meal you wish.”

“Yeah. You told me that before. Have you noticed that I’m not getting a bloody thing from your bloody replicator? It won’t even acknowledge my existence, so where the hell does that leave me?”

Buffy almost felt sorry for the guy. Nothing in his life had prepared him for Spike. Or for her, for that matter. She spoke up, “He’s got a point, you know. You’re going to have to order for him.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, cringing back from twin glares. “It’s against regulations.”

“So — starving your prisoners is okay, then?” She asked in her best perky-girl-reporter voice.

“Balls!” The energy barrier across the fourth wall of Spike’s cell didn’t even twitch when he stalked toward the young ensign. He stopped short and punctuated his comments with hard little finger pokes. And somewhere between his cell and the security officer, Spike slipped into game face. He growled, “Look here, you pillock. You can’t just lock a fellow up and not feed him!”

Buffy caught a sudden whiff of urine and realized the security guy had just peed himself. “Spike, your demon is showing. Go back into your cell.”

“No! I’m hungry!” Though he didn’t go back to his cell, his face did resume its human appearance.

“Then come into my cell. I’ll order something for you, okay?”

With a final glare for the ensign, Spike walked through Buffy’s energy barrier. She tested it, just to see if she could walk through it.

She felt a mild buzz — it was kind of ticklish — as she pushed her hand through it. “Hey! What’s the point of this thing if it doesn’t keep people in?”

The ensign didn’t answer. He was through the door by the time she started to ask the question. She shrugged and turned to Spike. “So? Name your poison.”

She knew he was hungry when he didn’t even bother taking the bait. “B positive, two pints, body temperature.”

“Pig.” It took her a few minutes to convince the replicator that yes, human blood was necessary and desired. When she handed the first cup to him, he drank it down and said, “More please.”

When he was finished, she said, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

“What appetite? You have to have something before you can lose it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowned, not liking the direction the discussion was taking.

“How ‘bout: you’re startin’ to make the survivors of Dachau look overfed?” He started patting around for his cigarettes before he remembered again they had been taken away.

“I’m not _that_ thin,” she said with her hands on hips. The pose wasn’t all that natural for her, but she was trying to check for herself if she was too bony without letting him see.

“Really? Used to be you had curves a man could wrap his hands around. Nowadays, you’re lookin’ like a twig.”

“Spike!”

“Buffy!” He responded in a perfect mimicry of her. “You need to eat. You haven’t been since you got back, and don’t try to lie to me. I can tell. Now what might tempt a Slayer’s tummy?”

She was trying to glare at him, but it was hard to do with tears threatening. “Aw, pet, don’t do that. You’re just worryin’ me. I know you didn’t want to come back, but now you’re here, I want to keep you ‘round a bit,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and sitting with her on the narrow bunk. “You’ve got to eat, to keep up your strength. Now come on, love. What could you eat? An orange? A banana? Me?”

That last startled a laugh out of her, which was what he intended. That or a blow to his head. All in all, though, he preferred the laugh. It was easier on the old brain. She leaned against him for a moment, and he savored the feel of her before she stood and went to the replicator. “Creamy tomato soup, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with butter on wheat, a glass of milk and a cup of hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows.”

When she brought the food back to the bunk, she said, “That was easy enough. I think this world is prejudiced against vampires. Here. Drink your cocoa.”

“So I take it we’re in truce territory?”

“Yeah. As much as it galls me to say it, you’re the only normal thing in my life right now,” she said as she settled down to eat.

“That’s been true for a while now, love.” She didn’t bother responding. It was an old argument. “Now, how ‘bout you and me see just how strong this ship really is?” His leer and the lecherous twist to his words left no doubt as to the activities he had in mind.

“Absolutely not. You don’t really think our guard left without telling anyone, do you?”

“Guess not. But I wish they’d get here. I’m bored,” he said with a small sigh.

She saw the chance to distract him and said, “Want to play cards?”

“And you propose to do this how? Play with pretend cards? If that’s the case, I hold all the aces.”

“Idiot,” she said, standing up again to go to the replicator. “A deck of playing cards, please.”

“There are 176 different types of playing cards. Please specify.” The machine’s voice was — strange.

“Um...a 52-card deck, four suits with cards numbered from two to ace?”

“Earth or Mars?”

“Earth?” Spike rolled his eyes at her. Too bad she wasn’t looking to see it. She returned to the bunk with the deck and said, “Gin? Poker? What?”

“None of the above. You still have soup and more than half a sandwich left. Eat up, then we’ll play.” She scowled, but continued eating — and talking. She enjoyed their conversation. For once, she didn’t (couldn’t) run home to avoid suspicion. The relief from not having to hide was enough to give her appetite a boost. She was surprised to find she was still hungry when she finished the soup and sandwich.

She requested a piece of chocolate cake and another glass of milk. When she sat down again, she said, “I wonder when they’re going to send someone else down. Want a taste of the cake?”

“Only if I get to taste the crumbs on your lips, sweeting,” he said in a lazy, romantic voice with a considerably more refined accent than he normally used. She hated it when he reverted to his human accent. Whenever William was in the house, she felt herself go to mush. It was all she could do not to jump his bones right then and there. And the bastard knew it. To hell with it. She ate a piece of cake, taking care to leave crumbs on her lips. She leaned forward and enjoyed the gentle play of his tongue against her lips as he cleaned off the cake and begged entry into her mouth.

It was at that moment that Worf decided to interrupt them. Buffy and Spike muttered, “Fuck,” at the same time and turned to look at him. Well — glare at him.

“You are _not_ supposed to be in the same cell!” Riker entered just then, looking pissed beyond description. Buffy marveled at the thought that these people might actually have emotions after all.

“Yeah, well, I got hungry. Stupid machine wouldn’t give me food,” Spike said, sounding like a sullen child.

Riker, in an almost-shout, asked, “How the hell did you get out of there?”

Buffy answered, “Well, it’s not like there’s a lot to these energy things, you know. They’re pretty easy to get past.” She stood up and demonstrated her point — while Spike did an idiot dance and jumped in and out of the cell. At least she had a bit more dignity than he did. “I mean, are you _really_ so goody-goody that your prisons are on the honor system? Spike, stop doing the hokey-pokey.”

Both Worf and Riker were looking a bit sick. Riker tapped his brooch and said, “Riker to Picard.”

“Yes, Number One?” Buffy tried desperately to keep from laughing, and she just barely managed to get herself under control.

“We have a problem. Could you join us in the brig?”

There was a pause. Buffy thought that if it had been Giles, he would have been cleaning his glasses. “On my way. Picard out.”

By now, Buffy was back in her cell, working on the cake again. It was chock full of chocolatey goodness. Between bites, she said, “Spike, get in here and sit _down_. I’m beginning to wonder if we should put you on Ritalin. Why are you so hyper?”

“Energy to burn. It’s been a whole sixteen hours since I killed anythin’.”

“You’re making me dizzy. Sit.”

He did, and they continued their conversation about the portal. Neither of them could take their two witnesses seriously. It was just too surreal, and it was impossible to believe their hosts would have any reasonable contribution to the conversation.

“Red or Glinda will find us,” he said.

“Not Willow. She’s serious about being off the magic,” Buffy told him. “I’ve talked to Tara a few times since she left, but I got the feeling it was pretty hard for her to talk to me and not ask about Will.”

“What kind of idiot would set up a portal to this place, right where anyone could walk through?”

They both knew when Picard arrived, but neither acknowledged him. They were narrowing down the possibilities when he finally cleared his throat to get their attention.

“If you don’t mind, perhaps you could explain how you’ve managed to defeat our security system?” He asked. His voice was dangerously low and quiet.

Buffy looked at him and blinked. She said, “Security? _That’s_ security? No way. Security is a nice fat chain with a Master lock. Trust me, this high-tech stuff _never_ works. I know.”

“Shackles work well,” Spike helpfully added.

Thinking back to their behavior, both in general and toward one another, Picard came to a decision. He didn’t like it, but the alternative was absolutely _no_ control over either one of them.

“Commander, secure a cabin for these two, and put a security detail outside the door.”

“Cabin?” Buffy asked, gulping. “As in one? For the two of us?” She didn’t have to look at Spike. She could feel the smirk on his face.

“He is patently unable to use the replicators. If he is to be fed, you will have to take care of it. Don’t you agree?”

She thought fast — she was getting good at that — and tried to come up with a bad side to this new twist. There was none. Sure, she was worried about Dawn (as well as her job, social services and just how she was going to pay next month’s bills), but Willow, Xander and Anya would take care of as much of it as possible for her. Since she had no control over her location at the moment, she might as well take advantage of it. _If that rationalization were any cheaper, you’d have to give it away._

And as long as she was taking advantage of the situation, there was all that time that could be spent finding new and inventive ways to make Spike hurt in all the wrong places. “Sure!” The word came out abruptly. “Yeah. Sounds good. Whatever you say.” She tried for an innocent look on her face. Spike wouldn’t buy it, because he could smell her arousal. But the captain might — no. Not a chance. She could see it in his face.

“Very well. Commander, please escort Ms. Summers and Spike to their new quarters,” he said, looking directly at Buffy. His message was clear to her. Don’t mess this up.

“But, sir!”

“Yes, Worf?” Buffy didn’t know when the Klingon landed in the captain’s dog house, but she could see clearly that he had disgraced himself somewhere along the line. It couldn’t have been that earlier thing. From what she recalled of Xander’s endless lectures on the Star Trek universe, everyone seemed to understand that Klingons have a suicidal sense of honor. The security officer backed down, though it seemed like a close call. No matter. She was about to enjoy some uninterrupted Spike-time.


	4. Hour Follows Hour

Twenty-four hours went by, and in that time, Buffy and Spike weren’t interrupted by anyone or anything — much to their mutual delight. Spike convinced her to chat up the replicator to get some of their favorite toys, but it took a bit of doing.

“No! It’s embarrassing.”

“Why? It’s not as if you live here. And they’re not gonna tell tales out of school. They wouldn’t. They won’t even say anythin’ to you about it. They got too much respect for privacy, eh? So come on, pet,” he said, licking and nibbling her neck lightly. “A little lube, a strap-on, shackles...” Just reciting the grocery list was enough to distract them both. After an hour, they — she — came up for air and went back to the replicator.

“Spike, it won’t give me shackles,” she said with just a hint of a pout.

“Ask for silk scarves, then.”

“Okay. It won’t give me a riding crop, either.”

“Bugger. Well, we’ll have to do without, then. Or maybe — What about a short length of rope?”

It took a bit of doing, but she was finally able to get a length of rope that the computer didn’t think could be used as a weapon, but which would still be sturdy enough to stand in for a whip. She paused for a moment, considering the rope. Off the top of her head, she could think of six ways to convert that short length of rope into a lethal weapon. These people _really_ weren’t prepared to deal with evil or she who fights evil.

“What else?”

“How ‘bout some lingerie?”

“Why? It’s not like I’ll have it on for long,” she said with a slight frown as the point went sailing past her head.

“I know, pet, but I want to be able to take it off.” He smoldered at her. It wasn’t fair that he could do that to her with just a look. Stupid jerk.

She went into the bathroom — earlier, it had taken her an hour to figure out where they hid the damn toilet — and turned on the shower, getting it to the temperature favored by the peroxide priest. She came out again and said, “Go take a shower, Spike”

She requested lingerie from the replicator, then she requested a few other goodies as well. One item, black silk pajama bottoms, she left on the bed. She put candles around the room, lighting them as she went. When Spike came out of the shower she pointed at the bed and the stand and said, “Finish getting ready. I’ll be out in a bit.”

He shivered with anticipation. It wasn’t often — alright, it was never — that he could catch Buffy in a romantic mood. Usually, she was too concerned about little sis, money and the general problems of getting by in Sunnyhell. He dressed in the pajama bottoms, put on some cologne he’d found, and laid back on the bed to wait. And wait. And wait. What the hell was she doing in there? It had been an hour at the very least. And sure, he was stamina-boy, but even vampires could suffer blue balls.

He was just about to storm the bathroom when she came out. Out of habit, he caught his breath. And he could have sworn he felt a sluggish beat from his dead heart. She was magnificent. Absolutely, bloody magnificent.

No virginal white or conservative champagne color for his girl. She’d gone for the red of blood when it hits the air. The bodice was red lace held in place by thin straps, and there was no coy flesh-colored fabric underneath. He could see her nipples, dusky and peaked and begging for attention. Red silk fell from an empire waist; there was no other adornment.

He looked at her face and marveled at its appearance. Despite all their activities in the last few hours, she looked rested and at peace. He hadn’t seen her so calm since before her mother got sick. And make-up. She’d put on make-up for him. She had taken care with her hair as well, giving it a bit of fullness and wildness.

And why was she suddenly looking so uncertain? “Well? Is — is this okay?”

“Buffy — you have no idea just how much beyond okay you’ve gone, have you?” He asked in a voice husky with desire. He watched her confidence return as he slowly stood and approached her. He touched her hesitantly, as if she were a fine porcelain figurine that would explode at the slightest handling. She didn’t explode, but a fine tremor ran through her body.

She said, “Computer, play Buffy Tunes One.” Soft music started playing in the background, and Spike slipped one arm around her waist and caught up her hand to lead her in a slow, dreamy almost-waltz. He looked into her eyes. He didn’t see his reflection — not precisely, anyway — but he could see a kind of reflection in the way she looked at him. She saw her enemy and lover. She saw a warrior she could fight against or with. She saw a monster and a man. And maybe, just maybe, she saw her own salvation.

They didn’t speak. There was no need to. There was no rush to this particular seduction. The demons, both real and metaphorical, were elsewhere. They spent an eternity dancing, first upright, then not. He undressed her with care for a change, and she shivered from the unexpected beauty of the moment. Before, there were demands whispered, shouted and growled. Now, there were gentle hints with hands, teeth, tongue, lips. A slight move in one direction brought blessed relief from another direction. They were together in a lovely haze, and neither of them wanted it to end. But eventually, spent and exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*****

He awoke in the dark, trying to remember what jarred him. It was Buffy, and the dream she was having wasn’t in the slightest bit pleasant.

“Pet, you’re dreamin’,” he said, trying to jostle her awake before she started screaming. And she _would_ scream. That particular nightmare wouldn’t go away, no matter how tired she was when she dropped off. _Should’ve known it’d follow her here,_ he thought as he continued shaking her arm.

“Come on, Buffy. Wake up —” one of her arms lashed out, landing straight on his nose and breaking it. “OW!” Just then, she started moaning. It crescendoed quickly into a scream. Several screams. He tried to stem the flow of blood from his face at the same time he tried to wake her up.

Thrashing now, she kicked him out of bed and straight into the security team that stormed in when they heard the shouts and screams. They tried to restrain Spike, but he shook them off and went back to the bed. He grabbed her arms and hauled her upright. “BUFFY! Wake _up_! It’s a soddin’ dream, and the security boys are gettin’ a good look-see at your many charms.”

At that, she finally woke up. She could see Spike. She touched the blood on his face and said, “Oh god, oh god. I’m so sorry —” She broke off the apology, unable to continue speaking through the tears.

He held her close and whispered, “It’s alright, love. I’m alright, and you’re out of the bleedin’ box. Shh...”

As he comforted her, one of the guards had the presence of mind to call for Counselor Troi. By the time she arrived, Spike had gotten Buffy covered up again. Buffy was still crying, but it wasn’t the uncontrollable sobbing she went through earlier.

Spike heard the guard say, “They were pretty active earlier, but then they quieted down, some. We came in after we heard him shout and her scream. It looked like she was having a nightmare.”

“Too right about that, mate,” he said in a tired voice. “Worst kind there is.”

Troi noticed that Buffy’s fingers were dug deeply into Spike’s back — deeply enough to draw blood. Yet still, he said nothing about it.

She would, if he wouldn’t. “Buffy, you have to let go of him. You’ve drawn blood, and we need to get him to Sickbay.”

Buffy looked up, horrified. “Spike, I’m so sorry...”

He gave Troi a dirty look before turning back to Buffy and saying, “No need to fret, love. If it were a worry, I’d’ve said somethin’ before now.”

Troi was torn. His nose had been broken, and he had a black eye. His back was a mess. Yet, he clearly wasn’t interested in help for himself at the moment. “Buffy, what was the dream about?” She asked, seeking comfort in the familiarity of her job.

She watched the young woman tense up and got an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, of being trapped in a small, dark space. She staggered backward, trying to get away from the raw emotions — emotions that were impossibly strong. Just then, Buffy did something to clamp down on her feelings. If it weren’t for her own physical reactions, she might have been able to convince herself that Buffy had felt nothing.

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do,” Troi said.

“Yes, she does. And maybe she doesn’t feel like having share-time with a complete stranger right now,” Spike said, standing from the bed and facing Troi. She almost gasped from the sight of him — naked and bleeding, he was the essence of power. “Look you. You don’t need to go pokin’ around in her head. You hear?”

“Spike? Please don’t. It’s not her fault.”

He sat down again to hold her. “Yeah. We know whose fault it is, don’t we?”

She looked at his face and said, “I broke your nose.”

“It’ll heal.”

“Maybe they could set it for you?”

“M’not leavin’ you alone. Not right now.”

Troi spoke again, “It would probably be a good idea for both of you to go to Sickbay.”

Buffy nodded, but she didn’t look up. “Give us a minute to get dressed.”

*****

“Quit it!”

“Give it! It’s mine!”

“Stop —”

“Told you —”

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

“He won’t —”

“He took —”

“Stop it, already. You two fight like my little sister.”

“Dude — you don’t have a little sister.”

“Yeah. But if I did, you’d fight like her. What’s going on?”

“Um —”

“Well —”

“Spill it. Now.”

“It’s a bet.”

“What’s the — wait a minute. Isn’t that the Slayer?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she fighting —?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Man — I never figured she’d take him out _that_ fast.”

“Well _I_ did.”

“You did not. Stop being such a weanie. You said he’d wipe the floor with her.”

“Can’t prove it.”

“I taped it. You owe me fifty bucks.”

“...”

“You guys made a bet about it?”

“Not just one. A few. And I won this one, so he owes me.”

“What other action you got going on?”


	5. Lost In Space

They walked down the corridor, escorted by a security officer in front and another behind. Buffy sighed, then said, “How long have we been here now? Eight, nine years?”

Spike rolled his eyes and said, “Try six days, pet.”

“This is hell. No. Wait. I’ve been to hell. This is worse. How could anything be worse than hell?” She was babbling, and she knew it. She also didn’t care. The inactivity — interludes with Spike aside — was slowly driving her crazy. She was The Chosen One, The Slayer, but the only thing that had been slayed lately was her sense of purpose. She wondered if this was her punishment for sleeping with Spike. If so, the Powers had a sick sense of humor.

“You’re the one always prattling on about how you want a normal life,” he said impatiently, wondering for the millionth time since they landed there why he’d been so stupid as to fall in love with her.

“Normal? You call this _normal_? Normal is going outside. Have you seen outside lately? It’s full of the vacuum of space.” Even as she said it, she realized there was something wrong with the statement, but she was getting her rant on and didn’t want to interrupt herself to try and figure it out. “Normal is having a boyfriend with a pulse. Normal is being not sucked into a transdimensional portal, then having that portal disappear. Normal is not waking up in a cof —”

“Sickbay.”

“Huh?”

“We’re here, pet, so unless you want to have that chat you’ve been putting off having with the lovely counselor, I suggest you move on to a different topic,” Spike said as he waited for Buffy to step up to the door. They could build a ship to sail between the stars, but they still couldn’t figure out how to make that same ship recognize him. At least they’d given them back their clothes.

“I can just see it,” she said sullenly. “Twenty years from now, I’ll still be stuck with you and still be coming to Sickbay for more freaking tests. How many more do they have to do before they figure out that they can’t figure out a damn thing about you and me? Huh? Answer me!”

The last was spoken to the room in general, and the medical staff caught by her glare looked like deer caught in the headlights. Every last one of them knew just how much effort Starfleet had gone to in order to prepare them for strange new worlds, meeting new lifeforms and generally being the best they could possibly be. Yet somehow, all of that crumbled in the face of these two. It wasn’t that they threatened anyone. Much. It was more in the pair’s casual attitude toward violence. It was an attitude that made Worf look positively gentle in comparison.

Spike put his hand on Buffy’s shoulder, and she shrugged it off with, “Don’t.”

“What?” His voice was a blend of hurt and outrage when he added, “Why not?”

“You know why not,” she said with a scowl.

“Oh. That’s right. We’re in public. Can’t be seen touching the sex toy when we’re in public, is that it?”

“Pretty much,” she said, her contempt underscoring the message.

“Buffy!”

_Crap._ She took a deep breath and turned to Troi, who looked appalled, and said, “Counselor! Nice to see you too. What’s on the agenda today? Oh! I know! Let’s see if Buffy’s endurance is improving with the latest dietary supplements! Or maybe we can look at some of those Horseshack cards, and I can tell you what I see in them. Better yet —”

“Just shut your gob, Slayer. I, for one, am sick of hearin’ it,” Spike said, hurt still coloring his voice. As long as the counselor seemed to be on his side, he might as well milk her sympathy for all it was worth.

“You hurt him,” Troi said.

“And you know this — how?” Buffy fixed her with a direct look, daring her to say it.

“I have eyes, I can see,” she answered defensively.

“You have eyes, but trust me, you can’t see. Spike’s a demon. He has no soul. He just doesn’t feel that kind of pain,” Buffy said even as she wondered if she would ever be able to get that point across to the woman.

“Can’t you hear how hurt he was when you rejected him?” Troi was increasingly frustrated with Buffy. Most of the frustration came about because Buffy was absolutely certain of what she said about Spike’s emotional state.

“I can hear him playing you,” she said with a sigh. “He’s evil. Trust me on this.”

“Then why do you make love with him?”

“I don’t. I fuck him. That’s it,” her voice and eyes as flat as the statement she just made. “I have an itch, he scratches it. He has an itch, I scratch it back. Love doesn’t enter into it.”

“Not on your part yet,” Spike muttered. “But you feel something. I can tell.”

She turned to face him. One eyebrow crept up slightly as she said, “Disgust, disdain, dismay, disbelief — want me to go on?”

“No. Think I’ve heard enough,” he said, turning on his heel to leave the room. When the door failed to open, it was the last straw. His face morphed, and he let out a growl loud enough to put a lion to shame. He pounded on the panel with all his strength, ignoring the security officers’ attempts to pull him away. Eventually, one of them was able to get the door open before Spike destroyed it completely.

Before security could follow him, Buffy said, “You shouldn’t. He needs to walk it off. Just get everyone out of his way.”

Troi looked at Buffy with a mixture of horror and admiration and said, “You did that deliberately.”

“Yeah. So?” Her look to the older woman was a direct challenge.

“Why? Why do that to him?”

“He needed it. He’s been too lovey-dovey lately. And god help me, so have I,” she said, feeling suddenly defeated. “We used to have the perfect relationship — he wanted to kill me, I wanted to kill him. But ever since he decided to fall in love with me, it’s been a mess.”

“What makes you think he decided to fall in love? Doesn’t love just happen?”

“I used to think so,” she said with a pensive look on her face. Troi felt, at long last, that she might be starting to break through Buffy’s barriers. Maybe today she would be able to broach the subject of her nightmares. “But —”

“Captain Picard to Buffy Summers.” Troi wanted to scream at the interruption.

Buffy tapped the communicator she’d been given and said, “Yeah? What?”

“Report to shuttle bay two.”

“Sure. Be right there.” To Troi, she said, “Sorry. Something not remotely resembling duty calls. Later.” Buffy walked out of Sickbay, leaving the security officers to follow or not.

*****

Data worked in shuttle bay two. It was essential to know how Buffy and Spike had arrived in this universe, and the only way to find out was to study the residual energy signature. What he saw made no sense. Nor did it make sense that while he and the ship’s computers saw just one intruder, the organic beings on Enterprise saw two. He would find the answer eventually.

As he held the tricorder up to the general location of their ingress, he noted increased energy readings. Either the sensors in the tricorder were triggering something, or, more likely, the portal was opening again. He tapped his comm badge with a measured pace. “Data to Captain Picard.”

“Go ahead.”

“The portal appears to be active again. However, the energy readings are not as strong as before.”

“Understood. I’m on my way with Security. Picard out.”

Had he been human, Data might have shaken his head at the readings the tricorder gave him. None of them made sense. Energy simply wasn’t this chaotic, especially when it appeared to be coherent at the same time. His ears perked up. He thought could hear a voice, and it seemed to come from within the fluctuating energy. He adjusted his auditory sensors slightly to focus solely on the voice. He heard a woman calling out, “Buffy? Spike?”

His tricorder showed him that more energy was being poured into the portal, but it was still quite tame, compared to the week before. As the energy increased, so too did the volume of the voice. He realized the portal, while still chaotic, was resolving into an oval shape that was roughly the height and width of a human being. The edge of the oval remained chaotic — the colors ran the gamut from infrared to ultraviolet — but the center was calming down.

A young woman was visible. His tricorder was able to record her image and voice, which meant she was most likely real. It was a moment before he realized she was speaking to him.

“Excuse me? Sir?” He cocked his head at her. Clearly, she assumed there was two-way communication.

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for two friends of mine. I think they may have fallen through into your world.” Data noticed she had a rather pronounced stammer.

“What are their names?”

“Buffy and Spike.”

“They are here, though I have yet to see Spike myself.”

“You’ve only seen Buffy?” She was clearly confused.

“I am unable to see or hear Spike. My crewmates, however, can.”

After a moment, her face cleared, and she smiled. “Oh! I bet it’s because you’re Mr. Data, right?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Kind of a long story. But you wouldn’t see him. Spike, that is.”

“Why? But first, you know my name. What is yours?”

“My name is Tara. And you wouldn’t see Spike because he doesn’t cast a reflection.”

“If my optical or aural sensors used a reflective material to gather environmental data, that explanation would suffice. As both my sensors and the ship’s use a combination of lasers and microphones, our continued inability to detect Spike is a mystery.”

“Oh.” It was clear she didn’t have an answer for him. He continued to tinker with the tricorder, and it was now sensitive enough to see and measure the woman’s carotid pulse. Her heart was racing. The stammering was additional proof of how nervous she was. But she had been since she first made contact.

He heard the door open, but did not turn to acknowledge the captain or Worf. “Why have you formed a portal to our reality?”

“I didn’t. It was someone else. I really need to talk to Buffy, and it’s kind of tiring to keep this open. May I please speak with her?”

Data turned to look at Picard and said, “The portal is not putting out the level of energy that allowed our guests to fall through.”

Picard nodded, then tapped his comm badge. “Captain Picard to Buffy Summers.”

There was a brief pause, then, “Yeah? What?” Picard tamped down the contempt he felt at her response. She had been with them for a week and still found it difficult to follow ship’s procedures. Nonetheless, she had been invaluable in keeping her companion on a short leash.

“Report to shuttle bay two.”

“Sure. Be right there.”

Picard looked at Worf and said, “You may return to duty on the bridge.”

“But, sir!”

“Now, Lieutenant. I don’t wish a repeat of the other day, and until I’m sure you can control yourself around her, I won’t have the two of you in the same room.” He watched as Worf sucked it in, stood briefly at attention, then left.

Data said, “Tara, Ms. Summers is on her way. I am curious. You stated earlier that it was difficult for you to keep the portal open. Yet I do not see that you are exerting a physical effort to do so. Nor do my readings indicate a ready power source. How, exactly, were you able to open the portal?”

Picard noted the look of misery on her face when Data asked the question. He stepped up to the aperture and said, “Ms. —?”

“Maclay.”

“Ms. Maclay, Ms. Summers and Spike have given us some indication as to the nature of your universe. I promise not to scoff at your answer.”

“It’s a spell. But it’s not the exact spell that was used to open it in the first place. If it were, they could come back through.”

“A spell?” Data looked completely puzzled.

Picard tried to explain, saying, “You see, Data, some people claim to be able to use words and potions to reorder the universe —”

“NO! It’s not like that!” She was genuinely distressed.

When she had their attention again, she said, “In your world, the laws of nature are immutable. You can describe the physical reality of matter and energy using set mathematics. In our world, we can describe physical reality using mathematics, but there is second set of laws that deals with mystical energy. The biggest difference between the two is that the second set of laws can be revised on a temporary or permanent basis. Kind of like writing software to redesign reality.”

Clearly, her explanation sat well with Data. “Are you saying that you are able to rewrite the laws of physics?”

“Sometimes. But it’s best not to.”

“Why?” The look of wonder on his face was enough to convince Picard to allow the discussion to continue.

“There are always consequences. With magic. Best not to use it unless you’re really sure it’s necessary,” she said. Picard noticed how sad she looked as she was talking. Only good manners prevented him from asking what was wrong.

Data was prevented from learning more, however, by the arrival of Buffy and, as it turned out, Spike. He realized it when he moved away from the portal and ran into something solid and invisible.

“Shut up, Spike. You know he can’t see or hear you, and I’m sick of listening to you bitch about it. You’re just going to have to keep out of his way.”

She stepped up to the portal and said, “Tara! You found us! I was beginning to think we’d be stuck here forever.”

“Sorry, sweetie. Dawn called me this morning to say you didn’t come home last night —”

“Last night? We’ve been here a week.”

“Time runs different in that dimension.”

“Great,” she said in a majorly grumpy voice. “So I get stuck with Spike for way longer than I need to?” Data looked sharply at her. Ship’s gossip was quite clear on just how well the two of them got along in quarters. They could be heard through the bulkheads.

“Yeah, but at least Dawnie won’t miss you so much.”

“How is she? Is she on a major freak?”

“Kind of. But Xander took her to school this morning, and he promised we would have an answer for her when he picked her up,” she said, all traces of stammering gone. “And now he can keep his promise.”

“Any idea what happened? How we ended up here?”

“It was a spell. I found the portal this morning, but it took me a while to figure it out. I know I’m not using the same spell that opened it enough to suck you out of our world, because the best I can do is videophone.”

“It’s probably Warren and the Dynamically-Challenged Duo.”

“That’s kind of what I figured when I saw Mr. Data standing there.”

“Look, see what you can find out. Can you open the portal again for conversation?”

“Yeah, but not ‘til later, I’m afraid. It will mean a few more days for you.”

“I can deal —”

“I can’t!”

“Shut up, Spike,” she said, grabbing him to her before he started teasing the android. It was clear he was still in a bad mood. “Tara, get in touch with Giles. Let him know what’s going on. Maybe he can figure out what they did.”

“Dawnie called him this morning, before she called me,” Tara said.

“What? Why?”

“She was panicking a little. I think she thought he could tell if you were dead or not,” she answered, an apology on her face.

“What made her think that?”

Tara shrugged and said, “I’m not sure. Maybe because he’s your Watcher?”

Buffy shook her head, trying to clear it of the mystery that was Dawn’s behavior. She decided to drop the subject for the time being and said, “Is there any way you can duplicate the spell?”

“I’m pretty sure I know what they used, but they changed it.”

Bemused, she said, “They hacked a spell?”

“Willow does — did — it all the time.”

“Damn. She’d be able to figure it out in no time, but she’s gone cold turkey.”

“She doesn’t have to do magic to research it,” Tara said.

“Yeah, but how easy is it gonna be for you to work with her on this?”

She shrugged and said, “Not very. But this is important. I can work with her,” she said, shrugging her shoulders a little.

“Okay,” Buffy said uncertainly. “I can see you’re getting exhausted. Tell Dawn I love her and I’ll see her as soon as possible. Oh, and let Willow know I appreciate whatever she can do. And tell Xander not to get jealous about this. And tell Anya I’m gonna miss the dress shopping. And you should drink some juice and take a nap!”

Tara smiled and said, “I’ll take care of it. Bye!”

As soon as the portal closed, Buffy’s eyes welled up with tears. Spike melted, his earlier anger forgotten, and gathered her into his arms to hold her, murmuring, “There, there, pet. See? They know where you are. You’ll be home again killing the beasties in no time.”

After a few minutes, Picard called Troi to the shuttle bay. They had a whispered conference to bring her up to speed, she approached the two, tamping down the spurt of nervousness she inevitably felt in Spike’s presence.

“Buffy?”

“What?” She asked in a broken little girl voice.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Are you a complete idiot?” Spike asked, completely disgusted with her. “Look at her. Does she look like she wants to talk, or does she look like someone who misses her friends, her family and her way of life?”

“Spike, she’s just trying to help,” Buffy said, her voice hitching.

“Well, she isn’t.”

“I know she isn’t. But she gets points for effort.”

Deanna stood there, stunned at the casual way she’d just been dismissed. And the worst of it was that there was absolutely no rancor on the other woman’s part. It was as if she, Deanna Troi, barely existed — as if she were little more than a cardboard cutout.

“Excuse me,” she said, her ire evident in the way she held herself. “But ‘she’ is standing right here, listening to every word you say.”

Buffy had the grace to be embarrassed, but Spike just smirked. “I’m sorry. I admit to major self-involvement, but I can usually do better than this. It’s just — talking about this won’t help. Getting me home will. Even killing something would help,” Buffy said, looking contrite.

“How can you be so casual about killing things?” Deanna was just on the edge of losing it.

“When it’s big, evil and about to devour me, a family member or a town, believe me, I’m anything _but_ casual. Don’t you people have anything evil in your world? Besides Spike, I mean?”

“War, famine, disease — those things exist on any number of —”

“No. That’s not evil. That’s just life — gross and heartbreaking — but it’s par for the course. I’m talking about true evil. It’s the kind of thing that despises life and delights in the despair to be found in the death of a child. Evil finds its greatest joy in torturing the innocent and laying waste to hope. Screams are music to its ears —”

In a tone of fond remembrance, Spike smiled and said, “Yeah, those were the days.”

Buffy kicked him in the shin, then said, “C’mon. Let’s go back to our cabin. I don’t feel like talking anymore.”


	6. Something’s Always Wrong

It was just two o’clock in the afternoon when Willow got off the phone with Tara. She’d called to say she found Buffy and Spike, but there was a problem with getting them home. She told Willow she would be by the house as soon as she picked up a few books at her dorm room. Willow sighed when she hung up and was about to make a mad dash to her room to change when she heard a crash and distinctly British cursing coming from the living room.

She ran from the kitchen, stopping short when she saw him hopping around and trying to hold one foot. “Um, Giles?”

He bit back another curse and let go of his foot so he could turn around. Willow noted a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, which made sense, because he was holding a toothbrush. And he was wearing — “Hey! An ‘I Love My Willy’ t-shirt! Did you see the show, or was it a gift?”

“I saw the show when I was in London a few weeks ago,” he said, still trying to process the fact that he was in Buffy’s living room.

“You are _so_ lucky! I saw _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ on PBS a couple of years ago, and I thought I’d pee myself laughing.”

He smiled and said, “I managed to maintain continence, but it really was quite good. Especially their take on _Titus Andronicus_.”

Willow grinned in agreement, but then her smile dropped away. “Um, Giles? I know you love your willy, but I really don’t think you want it flapping in the wind.”

He gave her a blank look and said, “What?”

“Your PJ bottoms are kind of gaping.”

“Blast!” He rearranged his clothing to regain some measure of modesty, and then he gave her an abrupt education in just how extensive his vocabulary could be at times. “It’s that fuckwit Travers’ fault. He and the Council’s coven showed up on my doorstep about fifteen minutes ago.”

“You-you were just in Bath?”

“Bloody coven teleported me without so much as a by-your-leave. Sodding Council,” he said, looking more and more like a Ripper instead of a Rupert.

“Why did they do that?” Willow was trying to shrink herself. She didn’t think he would get violent, but he was angrier than she’d ever seen him.

“Buffy’s disappearance may have activated a dormant line of prophecy,” he said. “As her Watcher, I’m expected to put a stop to it. When I get my hands on Travers —”

*****

Picard called a staff meeting just before the end of Alpha shift. Since Buffy and Spike’s arrival, he had been given endless reports. Some were about Spike and based only on data gathered by direct observation. More were about Buffy, and though the data were gathered by the computer, they were regarded as unreliable, since the computer offered no explanation for her anomalous strength. Another category of reports focused on the pair’s social interactions, both with each other and with the crew. Picard was all but drowning in the facts provided by the reports littering the files on Buffy and Spike. Facts were all very well and good, but he wanted to hear what his people thought.

He looked at Crusher first. “Well, doctor? What can you tell us?”

“She’s abnormally strong, and he’s a vampire. Until my diagnostics equipment can recognize Spike or even the reason for Buffy’s anomalous physical state, that’s the best I can do,” she said in a disgusted tone of voice. “Today’s testing was interrupted by a trip to shuttle bay two. When I asked her to come back to Sickbay, she told me in no uncertain terms what I could do with my tests.”

Most sitting around the conference table winced in sympathy, but not Picard. He said, “She’s only gone through two days of testing. How could she possibly be fed up?”

“Her stamina is incredible. As a result, we got all the way through the standard tests the first day and started working on the optional tests the second day. By that standard, she’s been undergoing testing for two weeks. She’s tired of them,” Crusher said.

“No help there, then. Worf —” The Klingon didn’t look up. He was — daydreaming? No. Impossible. “Worf!”

He jumped and said, “Sir!”

Deanna gave Worf a disgusted look and said as snidely as possible, “It’s no use, Captain. He’s fallen head over heels in love with her. He can’t even think straight when she’s mentioned.”

Picard looked at Troi in shock. This was not the calm counselor who saw the ship through each crisis with calm confidence. This was a woman who looked like she had been through far too much in far too short a time. Their visitors were going to have to leave and soon. “Counselor.” It was a warning.

“I’m sorry, Captain, Worf,” she said, genuinely contrite. “It’s just that I keep getting flashes from Buffy. One moment, she’s fine, the next, she’s in complete despair. I want to help, but they both shut me out. My assessment is that neither is out to harm us. Well — Buffy isn’t, at any rate. Spike goes along with what she tells him to do. As long as that dynamic is in place, the crew should be safe.” Before Picard could speak again, she blurted out, “I saw Spike naked.”

Crusher grinned. “The little I saw, I can’t blame you for being distracted.”

“Beverly, please. We’re not here to discuss Spike’s — charms. We’re here to discuss useful information. What more can you tell us about the girl?”

“She _is_ human. Her genetic profile falls well within parameters.”

“Yet?”

“Yet, she managed to best Worf in hand-to-hand combat. I put her on a treadmill to test her heart and lung capacity, and both exceed the norms by several hundred percent. Her speed, strength and agility are likewise off the charts. When I asked the computer about the apparent discrepancies, the only thing it would say is that she’s a human being. That and that she’s underweight by at least five kilograms. I’ve reset her dietary requirements so the replicator will give her a higher calorie count, no matter what she requests.”

“Worf? Are you ready to join the discussion?”

“Yes, sir. We have evaluated the security logs from shuttle bay two and the brig. Ms. Summers’ comments show no inclination to attack. Based on the one-sided conversations we have on record, they are as puzzled by their presence here as we are. Both wish to go home, especially Ms. Summers with her familial obligations. And sir, I wish to go to her world with her, assuming we are able to send them back,” the last was said in a giddy rush that reminded Picard of when he told his own father he wanted to join Starfleet instead of the family winery.

Troi answered, “It won’t work, Worf. Spike holds her interest.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Picard said, when he found his voice again. “Worf’s statement has just demonstrated why it is essential that we return them to their world as quickly as possible.”

“There’s another problem, Captain,” said Crusher. “Buffy and Spike are used to a far more active life than they’ve had on board so far. She told me yesterday that they’ve managed to burn a certain amount of energy by engaging in sexual activity, but it isn’t enough. She said they would both be crawling up the walls soon if a solution can’t be found.”

“The holodeck?”

“I took them there after yesterday’s round of testing, and I ran one of Worf’s advanced training programs. Neither of them even broke a sweat. Buffy’s exact words were, ‘This is a nice idea, but can’t we run a program with something stronger than fluffy bunnies?’ The only way to do that is to remove all safety filters. Worf would be a better judge, but from what I saw, they could handle it.”

Worf was stewing. He had to find a way to win the heart of the warrior, to prove that he was more than a match for her. He would — “Worf, set up a holodeck protocol for the two of them without safety limits. When you’re ready, let me know, and I’ll authorize it for their use. Judging from what we’ve seen so far, I really don’t have any desire to see either of them climbing the walls out of boredom.”

“Captain.” Riker spoke for the first time. “I don’t have a problem with this idea, but I think a security guard should be present during their exercises. If Buffy gets knocked unconscious, Spike won’t be able to end the simulation or call for help.”

Picard said, “Data, have you had _any_ success in detecting Spike?”

“Not to speak of, sir. I have been able to detect a faint energy signature around where he is purported to be, but that is with the sensors at full sensitivity and just scant millimeters from his skin.”

“Very well, Number One. Worf, arrange for a security detail to chaperone the two when they’re in the holodeck. Data, will you help them build a training exercise?”

“Certainly, Captain.”

*****

It took another day of planning and discussion, with Buffy filling in Spike’s comments, but eventually, Data was able to set up a simulation that met with their approval. He noted the combatant strength levels she was comfortable with, then, at her and Spike’s request, he set a strength variable that ran from minus to plus 20% of her comfort level.

“I am curious. Why a graveyard?”

“It’s where I do most of my fighting.”

“At night?”

“You haven’t read up on vampires yet, have you?”

“Since Dr. Crusher formally identified Spike’s species, I have read all of the available literature on vampires. It ranges from Christian allegory to pornography, and descriptions of vampiric abilities run a gamut just as wide. Very few stories describe a superhero such as you. And none explain why you would have sexual congress with a creature you are supposed to destroy as part of a sacred duty.”

Data assumed Spike must have said something, since Buffy appeared to have elbowed him. “Spike is — different. Most vampires just want to feed. They see the Slayer, they run. Fledglings are the worst. They’re all appetite and no brain. They usually rise in graveyards and always at night. Hence the nighttime cemetery scenario.”

“How is Spike different?”

“For one thing, he’s old...you _are_ old...he’s been a vampire for over 120 years, so he’s moved beyond the automatic feed-kill instinct...yeah, yeah...the thing is, if he were able to, he would still hunt and feed, but there wouldn’t be the mayhem we associate with fledglings or younger vampires. They tend to be messy eaters and are more inclined to kill just for the hell of it. Very few of them last more than two or three decades.”

Data interrupted with, “A moment — Spike is unable to hunt?”

“Right. You didn’t think he was holding back out of the evilness of his heart, did you?” Buffy cocked her head in an unconscious imitation of Data’s pose.

“I had not previously considered it,” Data said. “Why is he unable to hunt?”

“We’ve been here a week, and this is the first time anyone has asked why he isn’t draining everyone on board,” she said in disbelief. “Don’t you people understand that there are things that kill without remorse?”

“But Spike has not behaved in a threatening manner,” Data said, frowning at her sudden anger.

“The government got a hold of him and put in a behavior modification chip. They uh, neutered him, you might say,” she said with a sly look to Data’s left.

Data considered what she said, then filed the information away to discuss with Picard later. He returned to her earlier statement and asked, “Are you the reason most vampires do not survive very long? Because you kill them all?”

“What? No way! I’d have to be Santa Claus to pull off that stunt. No, most vamps die young because they’re constantly fighting each other. Or because their sire or another master gets pissed and dusts them.”

“Dusts?”

“When you decapitate a vampire or put a wooden stake in its heart, the body turns to dust within a few seconds.”

Data continued to ask questions and get answers. Buffy was quite a fount of information when she chose to be. Eventually, though, she tired of playing Miss Encyclopedia and said she was ready to try out the program.

“Understood. Computer, run Buffy Training One.”

The holodeck suddenly turned into a cemetery. Buffy was impressed. “Well, let’s see what we have.” She spent the next hour or so dusting vamps and a random demon the computer threw in. Data recorded everything, making careful notes of her response times and evident strength. After dusting her ninth vampire in the simulation, she called a halt. She barely looked as if she had exerted herself.

“It’s okay, but I think I’m going to do more harm than good,” Data heard her say. He started to ask why, but evidently Spike asked the same question.

“They’re not real. I know they’re not real. The moves are okay, but not great. I think I’d best stick to sparring with you.”

Data asked, “Is there any way to complete the illusion for you?”

“No. Not really. One of the perks of being the Slayer is that my body has a physical reaction to vampire proximity.” At his questioning look, she added, “I get cramps.”

“Even near Spike?”

A slow grin grew on her face and she said, “Especially near Spike.”

*****

Three more days passed, and Buffy and Spike fell into a routine. Each morning, she would go on a guilt trip over Dawn and her friends. Spike would remind her there wasn’t a bloody thing either of them could do about it, so stop takin’ after Peaches, because he’d be damned if he’d hang around a brooder. She would remind him that until they figured out how to get the ship to acknowledge him, he had no choice but to hang around her. The spat inevitably led to sex, which suited Spike quite well. It suited Buffy quite well, too, but she was less willing to admit it.

After their morning ritual, they would go to an available holodeck, and Spike would suggest a setting. He invariably chose a daylight scene. She figured the novelty of it would wear off eventually, so she allowed it. Sometimes they sparred in meadow, sometimes they fought in an urban setting. Either way, they gave it their all. The winner was determined by who was able to deliver a death blow. Sometimes, Spike was able to clamp onto her neck, but more often than not, she was able to put a stake to his chest.

In the afternoon, off-duty security personnel joined the couple’s watcher of the day. It wasn’t long before they were begging to have a chance at sparring with Buffy. Spike liked the idea until he realized that she was blunting her reactions because of soft mortal flesh. He tried to get her to stop, but she didn’t have the heart to say no to them. They were all so eager.


	7. Answer With a Question

“Captain, I think we’ve figured it out,” Geordi said.

“Go on.”

Data turned to the wall display and brought up his and Geordi’s findings, “If you recall, I was able to get a scant energy reading on Spike by holding the tricorder very close to his purported location. The energy was chaotic and incoherent, but following a level four analysis of sensor logs, we detected other matches in the ship’s sensor logs and a probable match in the historical database.”

Geordi said, “We looked at the sensor logs that registered the portal they fell through. When we did the analysis of the readings in shuttle bay two, we found traces of the energy waves in the same location as the portal itself. In fact, we’ve been able to go back over sensor logs and track Spike’s movements throughout the ship.”

Picard sat back in his chair and said, “You found a match in the historical logs?”

“Yes, sir. Eighty-three years ago, the _Albatross_, commanded by Captain Jennifer Markham, made first contact with a species called the Molvedane,” Data said. He paused, noting the captain’s frown, but continued when Picard said nothing. “Captain Markham noted that many of the items the Molvedane used in their daily life did not register on their tricorders, though the items were detectable by normal biological senses. She initially postulated they were using advanced holographic technology.”

“You’re not saying that Spike is a hologram.”

“No, sir,” Geordi said. “In fact, the analogy to holographic technology falls apart pretty much immediately, since no technology is required for Spike’s continued existence. And the same is true of the Molvedanish pieces. Captain Markham acquired several items — dinner plates, utensils, a small table — and brought them back with her. The pieces are in the Federation’s First Contact Collection.”

“I looked at the research which has been done on the pieces over the last eight decades, and I found the same faint, chaotic energy traces that Spike and the portal exhibited. The traces on their own, however, are insufficient to explain Spike’s coherence. Though I cannot detect him with four of my senses, I _am_ able to touch him.”

“And that’s where we started, Captain, with touch. We started on the assumption that Spike is made up of coherent energy, then we looked at how biological senses differ from technological sensors.”

“It is really quite fascinating —”

“Data, Geordi — please. Just tell me that you’ve found a way to make Spike appear on ship’s sensors,” Picard said, trying not to wince at the way Geordi’s face fell.

“Um — yeah. We did. We just need your authorization to do the firmware upgrades. We may need to do some hardware upgrades as well, but we’ll be able to register Spike without having to go through detailed analyses of our logs,” Geordi said, sounding deflated.

“Can we reconfigure the force fields to contain him if necessary?”

“Not immediately, Captain, and maybe not at all, unless we add holo-emitters to them. Although we can now recognize the energy, more work will have to be done to counteract it. Both Spike and Buffy will continue to be able to move through our force fields at will.”

“Buffy,” he said in a tone that was half statement, half question. “I’d forgotten about her. But she registers as human. She shouldn’t be able to go through them at all.”

“She is quite human, but medical logs show that she is imbued with the same kind of energy as Spike,” Data said. “Dr. Crusher suspects the energy is the source of Buffy’s extrahuman abilities.” Picard’s lips quirked at Data’s careful avoidance of the word, _superpowers_. “That energy effectively neutralizes the energy used in our force fields as well as much of our tactical weaponry.”

“What do we do if we have to fight either one of them?”

“Hand-to-hand or old-fashioned combat weapons, sir. We can’t use phasers on either of them, because they’ll just shrug the energy discharge off. Since Buffy is essentially human, she can be stopped with sharp edges, blunt objects or even a projectile weapon. But if legends are to be believed, Spike would have to be stopped with a wooden stake to the heart,” Geordi said.

Data added, “Decapitation or fire will also work, Captain. If necessary, we can flood any or all portions of the ship with an exact simulation of the natural daylight to be found on Earth.”

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. You have my authorization to proceed with the system upgrades you mentioned. And once you’re done, I expect the two of you to write paper describing the phenomenon. I look forward to reading it, and I’m certain the curators of the First Contact Collection will be quite pleased as well. Dismissed,” he said, turning back the display on his desk.

He could have guessed at Geordi’s pleased expression by the way the energy level in the room had risen palpably when he mentioned the paper. As always, the problem was not a lack of enthusiasm in his officers. Rather, it was a need to direct that enthusiasm and maintain focus. One problem down, several to go.

*****

They were in holodeck three, battling each other in a simulation of a random eighteenth century village, with both dressed in the manner of the time. Buffy was getting a lesson in how much easier the Slayers of the late twentieth century had it compared to their older sisters. The long skirt and endless layers of petticoats kept tripping her up as she fought, but she was suffering from other distractions as well. After the third time he broke through her defenses to deliver a killing bite, Spike stomped away from her and yelled, “You’re not even tryin’!”

She looked and sounded sullen when she muttered, “Am too.”

“Are not!” He went to mush when he realized she was miserable, not sullen, and walked back to her. He hesitantly put his arms around her. When she didn’t punch him, he gathered her closely and said, “What’s wrong, then?”

Her voice was muffled when she said, “Dawn.” It was another moment before she let herself cry — something she was getting in the habit of doing lately.

He let her cry herself out, talking all the while to try to soothe her, though he knew he was a poor substitute for what she really needed. More than any other Slayer in history, she was connected to her family and friends. They kept her alive and human, and while he might sometimes wish they would all go away, he couldn’t have it any other way, because then she’d be different.

When she finally stepped back, he said, “You’d think the bloody computer would know enough to give us a box of tissue, wouldn’t you?”

Given that the ship hadn’t once acknowledged his existence, it was understandable that he jumped when the computer said, “Please specify type of tissue.”

“Bloody hell!”

“That type of tissue is not within defined parameters. Please specify a different type of tissue.”

Buffy, who broke into a sudden fit of giggles, was no help. Spike grinned, pleased to have made her laugh even if it _was_ at his expense. He told the computer, “Facial tissues, pet. For the blowin’ of noses and such.”

A box appeared at his foot, and he picked it up, pulling a tissue out for her. “Guess that means the ship recognizes me, eh?”

“Yep. You’re a real boy, now. Doesn’t it make you proud?” She blew her nose.

“It does at that, love. Well — since sparrin’s been a small disaster today, what say you and me head out for a drink to celebrate my newly real status? We can go to the bar.”

“A bar? On _this_ ship?” She looked at him as if he were daft.

“Yeah. ‘Scalled Ten Forward,” he said with complete assurance.

“A bar.”

“It’s not the Bronze, but it’s someplace different,” he said in an almost-pleading tone of voice.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “A bar. This I have to see to believe. Lead on.”

On the way to Ten Forward, Spike amused himself and Buffy by giving contradictory orders to the ship’s computer. He’d begun to feel that he wasn’t quite real, what with having to depend on Buffy for everything. That, on top of having a chip in his head, was coming close to sending him over the edge. What he really needed was a nice brawl, but Buffy’s heart wasn’t in it. The holodeck characters fought Buffy well enough, but like Data, Geordi and the ship itself, they couldn’t see or hear Spike. He could hit them, but they reacted as if they were fighting an invisible and silent foe. He missed the satisfaction of a true and vicious kill.

When they entered, Buffy looked around. “This is a lounge, not a bar.”

“Yeah, but they serve drinks, and I want one,” he said, steering her to the long bar. He saw the bartender and tried to remember her name. He gave up when she approached and just said, “Whiskey, neat. What’ll you have, pet?”

“Juice — one part orange, two parts grapefruit.”

“Not even a little whiskey?”

“No!” She said, shuddering at the memory of her Watcher holding her hair back as she knelt over the toilet. She still thought that evening was a large part of the reason Giles ran away.

The bartender got the drinks for them. She set them down, then said to Spike, “The others don’t know just how evil you really are. They see the way you treat _her_, and they think that’s how you treat everyone. But I know better. And if it becomes necessary to stake you, and she can’t or won’t, _I_ will. Do we understand one another?”

He blinked. He didn’t think it was possible to meet anyone scarier than Angelus. “Um. Yeah. We do.”

Buffy watched the interplay. She thought maybe she should have been insulted at the implication she couldn’t do her job, but the reality was that he was a vampire, and she hadn’t staked him. The excuse that he couldn’t defend himself was long gone, and she’d had ample opportunity to stake him since then. Her thoughts were carrying her to the dangerous place, so she cut them off. She had no desire to examine her reasons for keeping him intact.

She drank down her juice more slowly than he drank his whiskey. When she was done, he said, “Let’s get out of here.” She didn’t smirk at his retreat, mostly because she was busy making her own. The bartender unnerved her.

*****

Two hours later, Buffy left Spike in their cabin to go to Troi’s cabin. She’d been avoiding the counselor ever since they arrived, but she couldn’t put her off any longer. The woman had become too insistent. Buffy thought her rude behavior would have made Troi less willing to see her, but no — _Stupid Starfleet dedication._

She rang the buzzer and heard her call, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Buffy said, “As long as Spike is on the ship, you might consider asking who’s out there before offering an invitation.”

Troi frowned and said, “I don’t understand.”

“Spike can’t enter a human’s home without an explicit invitation. One is all it takes for him to have an all-access pass, and I don’t have the ingredients for the spell to revoke the invitation.”

Deanna struggled with the mental shift needed to accept the statement as true and straightforward. No matter that Beverly’s logs officially listed Spike as a vampire and no matter that she had seen his demon for herself, she still struggled with accepting myth as reality. “Alright, Buffy. I’ll take care in the future. But I have to wonder why he hasn’t attacked any of us.”

“Two reasons — well, one, really. Self-interest. He has that chip in his head that keeps him from attacking people. But even if it had been fried when we came through the portal, he wouldn’t risk me staking him.”

“But you would have a hard time staking him, wouldn’t you?” She asked, trying to make sense of the muddle of emotions Buffy felt.

“If he attacked innocents? No. I wouldn’t.” The emotions were still muddled, but Buffy’s certainty that she would kill him was clear.

“You wouldn’t be upset?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I would stake him if I had to.” She was quite certain. So certain that —

“Have you had to — kill — someone because they were dangerous to others?” Troi noted the clenched jaw and flare of pain.

It was a minute before Buffy was able to speak. “I’ve had to do a lot of things I didn’t want to do. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You just said you’ve had to do a lot of things you didn’t want to do,” Troi said in an attempt to draw her out further.

“I don’t see signs of an impending apocalypse, so talking about it doesn’t fall into the ‘have to’ category,” Buffy said, her face set in a stubborn frown.

Deanna bit back a sigh, then approached from a different angle. “What about your family, then? Are you willing to talk about them?”

“My family is in another universe. I want to go back to them. I can’t. I’m upset. What else is there to say?”

“Perhaps you could talk about the sense of relief you felt when you said you couldn’t get back to them,” Troi said.

Buffy’s face was quite expressive when her guard was down. Troi watched denial and guilt go to war with acceptance of the truth. “I — The last few months have been tough. Really tough. This has been kind of nice — not having to fight every night — but I still have to go home. My sister needs me. And to be honest, I’m getting really bored. If I were research-girl, I’d be having a blast. But I’m not. I’m more into doing.”

It was the first time Troi heard her mention a specific family member. “How old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

“What about your parents?” She felt Buffy’s anger roll off in waves.

“Our mother is dead.” The statement didn’t invite a question about their father. Troi was willing to let the subject rest, since she had the distinct feeling that she had just been steered away from something even more painful for the young woman. She let the silence continue while she considered other questions she could have asked.

She settled on, “Why have the last few months been difficult?”

“Why do you care?” The stubborn look was back, along with suspicion.

Troi maintained a strict neutrality in her voice when she asked, “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“This isn’t —” Buffy stopped short.

“Isn’t what? Real? You think we’re part of a fictional universe,” Troi said, watching for the reaction — flat out shock. She continued, “Neither you nor Spike have been particularly tactful about it. The fact that you, he and Ms. Maclay all seemed to know who we are strongly suggested an observer’s familiarity with us.”

“You don’t seem to be too bothered,” Buffy said, trying to regain her equilibrium.

“I might be, if I were concerned about the validity of my existence,” she said, noting Buffy’s sudden interest. _Why that phrase?_ “But I was here before you arrived, and I’ll be here after you leave.”

“It doesn’t bother you — that someone made you up?”

_Why is she so upset over that?_ “Would it bother you?”

“Yeah. Totally.” If anything, her frown deepened and her tension increased.

“Why?”

“Because then it would mean that my life sucks because some sadistic bastard can’t leave bad enough alone,” she said, bitterness dripping from every syllable.

Troi waited while Buffy sorted through her thoughts and emotions. “You people have no idea — none — Everything is so nice and clean here. Do you know it took me an hour just to find the damn toilet in our quarters? In my world, nothing is _ever_ that neat and tidy. Not even death.”

Buffy’s claustrophobia and panic almost overwhelmed Troi, but she managed to fight both back. She said, “Are you talking about the act of dying?”

“No. I’m talking about death. Which I’m guessing in your world is pretty much final. Am I right?”

“Death isn’t final in your world?” Given the kind of things she and Spike had described about their world, Troi wondered just how far their magic went.

“Sure it is. If you’re not me. If you’re me, it just means —” she stopped herself, and Troi felt a huge surge of bitterness and anger.

Gently, she said, “What does death mean for you, Buffy?”

Jaws clenched, eyes downward, she said, “If you’re me, it just means an interlude while your friends figure out how to resurrect you.”

Hesitantly, she said, “Don’t you mean resuscitate?”

“I said what I meant. And when you’ve been buried for four and a half months, resuscitation is pretty much out of the picture.”

The sense of darkness and being in a small, confining space got worse. Troi remembered a story she read as a teenager and said, “You were still in your coffin when they — when they brought you back.” She felt a rising sense of horror and found herself irrationally hoping Buffy would refuse to talk about it.

“They thought of everything _but_ digging me up,” she said. “So you can see why the idea of someone writing my life is at the top of my list of things that suck — well, second from the top. Vampires are still number one with a stake.” She needed to move. She needed to kill something. The best she could hope for was a brutal fight with Spike.

“Gotta go.”

“Buffy, wait —”

“No.”


	8. Got Me Under Pressure

“I know I left a box of clothing in the basement. I’ll be in a much better frame of mind once I stop looking like a refugee,” Giles said as he walked toward the kitchen.

“Um. Yeah. About those?” Willow’s tentative question stopped him dead in his tracks.

He turned to look at her and in a very quiet voice said, “Yes?”

“You know how you gave Buffy all that money for the plumbing and stuff?” She was trying not to cringe at the look of dawning dismay on his face.

“No. Tell me they didn’t get destroyed,” he pleaded.

“There was a problem with the sewer line. Sorry,” she said, putting on her best sympathy face.

“I can’t go out looking like this. Maybe I could borrow something of Xander’s,” he said with a hopeful note in his voice.

“Maybe. But I’m not sure he has any of his old stuff around,” she said, hating the fact that he was starting to look like a rat trapped in a maze.

“‘Old’ stuff? What do you mean?” He was starting to believe that he wouldn’t be getting dressed any time soon.

“He’s gotten a little bigger since the last time you saw him. We think it’s stress,” she answered in a rush.

“Perhaps you could go out and buy something for me? Obviously, I’ll pay you back as soon as I get access to my money, but from the look on your face, I’ll take a wild guess and say you are without funding at the moment,” he said. He took a deep breath and shook his head. Travers’ little bit of revenge was turning out to be far more effective than he could have dreamed.

“I-I have a suggestion?”

He snapped, “Either you do or you do not have a suggestion, Willow. Only you can determine that —” Giles saw her wince at his tone and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. What’s your suggestion?”

“Maybe Anya could get you some stuff. You know — against your share in the shop?”

He blinked, considering the notion, then said, “Brilliant. You are absolutely brilliant. I’ll call her right now. Unless, of course, the phone’s been disconnected?”

Three hours later, he was ready to curse Willow for her idea. Anya had shown up with clothing, but none of it was even within shouting distance of his usual style. When he complained, he earned an earful for his trouble.

“You’ll look better in these. Trust me,” she told him as she pushed the bags back at him.

“I don’t want to look better. I want to look like myself. And anyway, it’s not as if I’m posing for the cover of _GQ_,” he said, pushing the bags back toward her.

“Oh, you’d never be on the cover of _GQ_. Your chin is much too pronounced,” she said with a casual disregard for his ego. She said, “I paid for them, therefore I get to choose what you wear.” Her perky voice really didn’t go all that well with her clenched jaw.

“I told you to take it out of my share of next quarter’s profit,” he told her. Somehow, he’d ended up with the bags again, and she had moved away.

“But I don’t know what next quarter’s profit will be. For all I know, the store could go under, and then you wouldn’t be able to repay me,” she told him. She looked at him as though that possibility should have been self-evident.

“I’ve seen the bloody books, Anya. I doubt very much that the shop will go bankrupt any time soon. Take these back and get what I asked for.” It was bad enough to be having this conversation, but it was even worse when his body was so confused about what time it was. It had been full dark in England when he’d been teleported to a sunny afternoon in Sunnydale. He wasn’t sure if he should be having breakfast, napping or trying to go to sleep for the evening.

“If you don’t like them, have that Travers man teleport you your own stuff.”

“I tried,” he said petulantly. “The pillock would only send the books I need.” And hadn’t that been a lovely conversation for Willow to overhear. Giles knew full well that Travers was milking this event for everything it was worth. It was payback for the humiliation he and the Council suffered at Buffy’s hands the year before. Never mind that _they_ were the ones who started the pissing contest; they were upset because Buffy ended it by winning. Giles thought it would probably be several weeks before clothing _and_ his wallet and passport arrived from England; he had no doubt that the Council would send his things by the slowest boat they could find.

“Then you’ll have to wear what I bought you. I have no guarantee that you will pay me back, so the best I can do to ensure that I benefit from this transaction is to dress you to please myself,” she said with an air of finality. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over and done with. “Go upstairs and change. Your pajama bottoms keep gaping open inappropriately.”

He gave up. After changing into the most conservative items she’d bought, he fixed a glare on his face and headed downstairs. _One word. Just one,_ he thought, too angry even to finish mapping out the imagined retribution. Willow, Xander and Dawn caught the look on his face and remained silent. Tara looked up and gave a smile of approval before ducking her head shyly.

Anya ignored his mood and said, “You see? You look very good. If you dressed like this all the time, you would have more girlfriends.”

“I don’t _want_ girlfriends,” he said in a tight, angry voice.

“Boyfriends, then. Whatever. My point is, you always dress like you’re trying to hide. You should stop that.”

“Anya!” Xander decided to intervene before they were at each other’s throat. “You were very kind to get a few things for Giles to wear. Now drop the subject before he drops you down the Hellmouth.”

“But —”

“No. I think you and I should plan on having dinner at home. We can come back later, okay?” Xander all but shoved her out the door, pausing only to send an apologetic look to Giles.

Willow broke the silence with, “So. Anyone for pizza?”

They were making significant inroads into the pizza when Tara said, “What w-will we be looking for with the prophecy?”

Giles shook his head at her as he tried to swallow his mouthful of pizza. After a quick swallow of beer, he said, “Not now. We’ll wait until Xander and Anya return so I only have to go over this once.”

“Maybe you could tell us why you went to London,” Willow said. “That’s nice and non-Watchery. Do you have friends there?”

“No. Family, of sorts. He’s a second cousin once removed — or a first cousin twice removed. I can never keep these things straight,” he said.

Willow’s and Dawn’s eyebrows shot up toward their hairline. Dawn was the first to regain the power of speech, and she said, “Cousin? You have a cousin? I didn’t know you had any family.”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, and he said, “Dawn, my family, the only family that counts, is here in Sunnydale.”

Tara asked, “But what about your cousin?”

Giles sat back on the couch and cracked his neck before saying, “James and I have never been particularly close, which is a shame, since he’s my only remaining blood relative. Aside from his children, that is, but I don’t recall the last time I saw them.” The beer had probably been a bad idea, considering how long he’d been awake. It was making him more talkative than usual.

Willow looked confused when she said, “Then why did you go to London to visit him?”

“He found out I was back, somehow. I certainly didn’t tell him,” he answered. “At any rate, he called me up one day and begged me to come for the weekend.”

Dawn asked, “Why didn’t you want to let him know you were back?”

“My cousin is a sex-obsessed prat with too much time and money on his hands. I don’t find him to be a particularly enjoyable companion. His ex-wife isn’t bad, though — unless she’s on a rant about James,” he said, taking another swallow of his beer. He was starting not to care very much about anything, and it was a pleasant state of mind for him.

Willow’s jaw dropped slightly. Out of habit, Tara reached over and gently pushed it up with her finger before saying, “Sex obsessed?”

“Completely. He makes Anya look repressed by comparison.”

*****

“Why isn’t there any sound?”

“We think there’s a conflict between the universal translator and the translation spell we added to the tap.”

“So how are you gonna know if Worf starts quoting Klingon love poems at her?”

“Um. We won’t. Not for a while, anyway.”

“I told you I was working on it. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“I was just stating the facts. Now, if I had called you a moron, then you — well you _still_ wouldn’t have anything to complain about because you _are_ a moron. You were supposed to send Buffy _and_ Spike through, but she’s the only one there.”

“Yeah? Well — I’m rubber and you’re glue, so whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you!”

“...!”

“Hey, girls. Give up the whine-fest for a minute. Take a look a this.”

“That’s Worf and Buffy.”

“Yeah. Watch. This is so great.”

“Is he —”

“— Biting her? Oh yeah.”

“Klingon mating ritual. Keep watching.”

“And the Slayer scores again. How much height do you think he got?”

“I’m seeing about six feet of air space between him and the floor. Man, he’s moving in on her fast.”

“Not really. This was her fourth day there.”

“I thought you said she landed on _Enterprise_ last night?”

“She did, but time moves faster there. Twenty-four hours here is about the same as ten days there.”

“Cool. So, girls. Since the sound is out for the time being, what _can_ we bet on?”

“Stop calling us girls.”

“Stop acting like them. Is there any way to hack into the ship’s communication system?”

“Of course. How do you think we’re getting this feed? We set it up so the ship regularly sends a packet of data through a pinhole portal we left behind. Why?”

“I was just wondering how Buffy would do against the Borg.”

*****

It had been several hours since Xander and Anya returned to the house to get brought up-to-date on the latest problem. By that time, a bottle of beer had mellowed Giles out somewhat, so he was less inclined to throttle her for her taste in clothing. Once everyone settled down, Giles went to the box that arrived shortly before Xander and Anya and pulled out two books.

“These are a translation of the prophetic works of the Kam!fit’n, a demon race that went extinct or departed from this reality about 500 years ago. Up until yesterday, they were dormant. Buffy and Spike’s trip to another dimension has, for some reason, activated them.”

Xander raised his hands and said, “In the immortal words of the Buffster, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, ‘Huh?’”

“It’s really quite simple,” Anya said. “There are thousands of prophecies out there, but most never happen, because the necessary conditions haven’t been met.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Anya. What’s particularly troublesome is that this line of prophecies has the potential either to make life in this universe a living hell or a relative paradise,” Giles said.

Willow spoke up, “So how are we going to know what to do?”

“Research. Unfortunately, we’ve only about six days to make certain decisions before these particular prophecies become the dominant force in our realm,” he said, stifling the urge to yawn.

“That’s it?” Dawn was beyond shocked. “Six days to decide the fate of the world? You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

“I’m afraid not. There is, however, a ready solution available to make up for our lack of time.”

Tara looked up, her eyes wide. “You can’t —”

“Xander’s the one who’s always talking about how wonderful those people are. Surely, they’ll understand,” he said as he ignored the blank look on Xander’s and Dawn’s face.

Willow was the next to pick up on his plan. “But — what if they arrest you?”

“Won’t be the first time. Face it, Willow. There’s more time on the other side of the portal than there is in Sunnydale,” he said, looking every bit as tired as he was.

“But you — you shouldn’t make an important decision like this without a full night’s sleep. It’s the kind of decision that needs due consideration,” she answered, desperate to get him to come up with a better idea.

“Uh, Willow? Giles? What are you talking about?” Dawn was starting to pick up on the panic rising in Willow’s voice, and she didn’t like it at all.

“Giles wants us to go into that other dimension,” Willow said, frowning at Giles.

“No,” he said. “Actually, I’m talking about _me_ going into that other dimension. I need the rest of you to keep an eye on things here.”

Xander said, “But — why can’t _I_ —”

“Because I won’t let you,” Anya said, taking hold of his arm to emphasize her point. “You belong here. With me. Giving me lots of —”

“Yes. Well,” Giles interrupted. “Tara will take me to the portal, and I’ll join Buffy and Spike. Tonight.” With another look at Anya, he added, “Definitely tonight.”

After an hour and a half of arguing and packing, he was finally standing in the cemetery where they’d disappeared. Giles peered through the portal. There was no one there. He turned to Tara and said, “Are you sure this is the right place? I thought there would be someone waiting. Or guarding. Or whatever it is they do.”

She nodded and said, “It’s the right place. I left a little tracer when I opened it earlier.”

He took a deep breath and said, “Well. Right then. The sooner I go, the sooner I have a chance to get some sleep.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t wait a few hours? Maybe get some sleep here?” Tara tried not to let him hear just how concerned she was, but it was a struggle. The last time she’d seen him look this careworn was right after Buffy died.

He gave her a gentle smile and cupped her cheek before saying, “I’ll be fine. From what Xander tells me, _Enterprise_ is a day at the beach compared to Sunnydale. Do you think I could get other clothing there?”

Tara chuckled and said, “Probably, but I don’t think you’ll be any happier with that stuff than you were with what Anya got you.”

“Let us not speak of Anya’s taste in clothing again.” He was dressed in a pair of fairly tight-fitting blue jeans, a deep green silk shirt, a black leather jacket and black leather half-boots. He felt like a fool and couldn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this kind of treatment from Anya. She couldn’t possibly still be upset over that spell-induced kiss they shared right before he left for England.

“Let me say just one thing, then it’s a promise. You really do look kind of sexy in the stuff she got you. Coming from a lesbian, that’s pretty high praise,” she told him, able to see the blush rise on his face in the light emanating from the portal.

He bent abruptly to sling the weapons bag on his shoulder and to pick up the bag with his books. “Um. Well. Yes. Hand me that other bag, will you?”

A sly smile crossed Tara’s face as she bent down to pick up the bag that held his clothing. It wasn’t often that she felt confident enough to tease anyone, let alone Mr. Giles. Her face neutral again, she handed him the bag and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s for Buffy from all of us. I’ll activate the portal again tomorrow after classes. Make a list of anything else you find you need, and we’ll get it through to you this time tomorrow night.”

Adjusting the duffel on his shoulder, Giles gave her a quick smile and added his power to Tara’s to open the portal wide enough. Then, he stepped through the looking glass. He blinked in the bright light, realizing that Tara hadn’t used nearly as much magic as he had to open it up sufficiently for passage. _She’s lost her Willow and her will to do magic,_ he thought sadly, turning around to make sure the portal was closed. He paused at the sight of several people, presumably security officers, training weapons at him.

He offered a tentative smile and said, “Hello. I-I don’t suppose I could speak with Buffy Summers, could I?”

“Drop the bags and raise your hands!”

The speaker, with his ridged brow and distinctly non-human appearance, was wearing a metallic sash. Giles assumed it was Worf, the Klingon. He hadn’t remembered much of what Xander told him (though he had Willow’s notes in his pocket), but he knew better than to argue with that tone of voice. The bag with his clothing dropped with a small whump. The bag with his books dropped with a louder but still muffled thud. The bag with Buffy’s weapons dropped with a loud clatter. Frankly, he was grateful to be able to put them down. Giles opened his mouth to ask about Buffy again, but closed it almost immediately. He felt that all things considered, he would be better off not speaking unless spoken to.

“Identify yourself.” Worf gestured to two of the officers on the security detail to move the bags away from Giles.

_Not exactly friendly, but I’ve never been partial to unannounced visitors myself,_ he thought. He answered, “Rupert Giles,” but much of it was lost in the yawn that overcame him. A second attempt produced a clear response.

“Why have you come here?”

Giles blinked. “I’m sure I said that earlier. I’m here looking for Buffy.”

“Who are you to her?”

If he didn’t think he knew better, he would swear the Klingon was behaving like a jealous lover. “I — erm — well I-I’m her teacher. Of sorts.”

“Teacher of what?”

It was amazing how much suspicion could be packed into three words. He was too tired to even attempt to dissemble, so he answered with the truth. “Um — fighting. Weapons. Demonology. Prophecy. Tactics. Strategy. The finer points of rugby. How to make a proper pot of tea. Look, I realize —”

One of the officers held up the Darvinian sword. It was one of Buffy’s favorite weapons. The officer held it to the light, admiring the clean lines of the blade. “_You_ taught her how to fight?”

“Well. Yes. Why?” He was beginning to think he should have taken a nap after all when he was attacked by a second yawn. And then by Worf, who rushed forward to clasp arms with him. Giles just barely managed to remain upright.

“Sir! I am honored to meet the man who taught a warrior as fierce as Buffy. I will add your name to the saga I am writing about her arrival in our universe,” Worf said, his face close to Giles’.

“Um — Yes,” Giles said, trying to add space between him and the Klingon. He hoped very much that the Klingon was smiling and not simply baring his teeth. “That’s very nice, I’m sure. Tell me, will there be an interrogation this evening?” He hoped his question would make Worf let go of his arm. It was starting to hurt quite a bit.

“Assuming my chief of security releases you, yes, I would like to ask a few questions,” said another man. Worf let go immediately and stepped back. Giles took a relieved breath and watched the man step forward to introduce himself. “I’m Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of _Enterprise_. Perhaps you would like to explain why you’ve arrived uninvited and unannounced.”

Giles blinked, his eyes dry and lids heavy. A third yawn overtook him as he started to speak, then he managed, “Rupert Giles. I’m Buffy’s Watcher.”

“Why are you so tired? Was it the act of coming through the portal?” Picard looked at the other man, who was now swaying a bit.

“No. It was going too bloody long without sleep. I don’t know that you need to find me a bed. The floor is starting to look very cozy,” he said, his mind feeling quite disconnected from his body.

He heard the captain say, “Catch him. He’s going down.” It was enough to help him shake off the lethargy he was starting to suffer. Now that he’d arrived, his body was quite willing to shut down for as many hours as necessary.

He rubbed at his eyes and said, “No, no. I won’t collapse on you. But I don’t know how much longer I can stay —” _yawn_ “— awake.”

Worf said, “Captain, regulations require that he be taken to the brig —”

Giles interrupted with, “Is it quiet there?”

Picard answered, “Generally speaking, yes.”

“But sir —”

Giles interrupted Worf before he could finish his objection and said, “Is there a bed?”

Picard nodded and was about to say something else, but Giles spoke first, saying, “Lovely. Shall we go?”

It was a short walk, for which Giles was deeply grateful. He was shown to a cell and told how to dim the lights and use the sanitary facilities. He was facing the bed and could hear the captain and Worf arguing in low voices when a thought occurred. He turned and walked toward the two, saying, “I-I know you probably won’t give me my weapons bag, but I really could use the two with my books and clothing. Is there any chance you can give them back to me tomorrow?” Giles was too tired to process or wonder about the look of frustration that crossed both Picard’s and Worf’s face.

Picard answered, “Certainly, Mr. Giles. But I would ask your indulgence in one small matter.”

“Yes?”

“Do you see the strip of light around the entrance to your cell?” Picard pointed it out to him.

“Yes. I see it,” Giles said, sounding like a sleepy child and feeling very much like a space cadet.

“When it’s lit like that, please remain in your cell. It would make my security team very happy.”

With a quizzical look, Giles said, “I say, you must have a trusting society to expect such cooperative prisoners. Are you certain bars wouldn’t be better?”

Picard answered after taking a deep breath. “I’m beginning to think so. Sleep well, Mr. Giles. We’ll talk when you’ve had a chance to rest.”


	9. Hello Again

“— you fussing over me, Doctor. Some of these injuries happened years ago.”

Buffy stopped short just inside Sickbay. She wanted to run, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out if it was toward Giles or away from him. In the end, her feet made the decision for her. He hadn’t noticed her by the time she stepped up to the bed; he was still too involved in his argument with Dr. Crusher.

“And wouldn’t it be nice to have the full use of your hand again?”

“I’m left-handed. The loss of function in my right is hardly of earth-shattering importance,” he said, snatching his hand away from her.

Buffy caught his hand as his arm swung back and took a long look at it before saying, “It’s your choice, but do you really need this particular reminder? Wouldn’t it be better _not_ to have aching joints?”

Giles caught his breath and smiled with relief. He hadn’t been sure if she would hit him or hug him the next time they met, and it was the reason he’d requested that this particular meeting take place near medical help. He said, “Buffy, I’m so happy to see you,” before standing and opening his arms to her.

She caught him in a hug, easing up slightly when she felt two of his ribs crack and heard him yelp. For several minutes, she buried her face in his chest, enjoying the feeling of safety, the feeling of being home. She would have stayed there longer, but she couldn’t. She had things to say before he heard them from anyone else.

She didn’t let go, but she leaned back slightly so she could look him in the eye and said in a rush, “I’ve screwed it all up. Everything. Tara left Willow. Willow got high on magic one night and landed Dawn in the ER after a car accident. Dawn’s messing up in school so much that Social Services wants to take her away. I’m so completely out of money that I had to get a job at the Doublemeat Palace. Worf’s in love with me. And I’m sleeping with Spike.”

She waited for his look of condemnation and wondered when he would push her away. Instead, he answered, “Tara told me why she left. Dawn told me about the car accident. Willow told me she’s joined Spellcasters Anonymous. Xander told me about the social worker. Anya was quite excited about the fact that you had a paying job. Captain Picard warned me about Worf. And, I’m afraid, I heard enough ship’s gossip this morning to learn about you and Spike.” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek and said, “I think you and I should talk.” Without looking away from her, he said to Crusher, “We need privacy. Is there somewhere we can go?”

*****

After the pair were shown to a small conference room, Picard looked at Deanna and said, “Well?”

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest when she bent her head and closed her eyes, considering what to say and how to say it. She’d dealt with strong emotions before, but Buffy’s and Giles’ were almost overwhelming in their intensity. It made her wonder if Spike’s emotional response to Buffy was just as strong. She looked up again, but at the far wall, not at Picard or Beverly. “All relationships are complex, Captain, but these two have a relationship that makes the Gordian Knot look like a simple loop. When they saw each other, I picked up love — the strongest emotion between them — betrayal, joy, anger, sorrow, frustration and amusement. And each of _those_ emotions was colored by even more nuances.”

Picard said, “All that from a simple hug?”

She gave him a wry look and said, “There was nothing remotely simple about that hug. I had the impression that an entire conversation took place before they ever put their arms around one another. And I don’t mean what she said about his hand, though that alone was enough to provoke strong fear and anger in both.”

“Hardly surprising,” Beverly said. “Judging from the damage, I would say someone tortured him at one point. You don’t see that kind of injury from an accident.”

Picard gritted his teeth at the thought of torture, then deliberately relaxed his jaw before saying, “Will they be a while?”

Deanna nodded and said, “I’ll stay here in case they need me, but I think they can work through this on their own. I’ll call when they come out.”

*****

In the small consulting room, Giles took a seat on the couch while Buffy paced back and forth. He was not unmindful of how much she looked like an animal pacing back and forth in a cage. He only hoped she would continue the conversation they started without running away.

She kept pacing as she said, “I can’t believe you’re taking this so calmly. You told me I had to face life, and look what’s happened. You must hate me.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before,” he said, a hint of gentle dry humor in his voice. “As I recall, I told you that you would always have my respect and support. Nothing has changed.”

“Spike —”

“Is a decision you made. Your relationship with him is not who you are. It’s just another facet of your life, much the way I am, much the way Dawn is,’ he said. “Buffy, please. Sit down.”

Her head bent, her face drawn, she sat stiffly on the couch. Giles tugged on her until she fell sideways into him. It was enough to open the floodgates. He handed her a box of tissue from the end table, then said nothing as she cried, preferring instead to give her a safe place to give vent to her shame, guilt and sorrow. Nearly half an hour passed before she felt able to sit up again and talk.

“I can’t seem to get it right,” she told him as she used a tissue to wipe clean her face. “This thing with Spike started the day after you left.”

“What provoked it?” He kept his voice noncommittal. The last thing she needed to hear at the moment was any hint of disapproval. If she did, the story would never come out.

“He found out he could hit me —” she pulled him down when he started to stand. “Relax. I’m the only one he can attack.”

“Are you sure?” The last thing any of them needed was an unchipped Spike, especially if he was reading the prophecies correctly.

“Positive. He said it was because I came back wrong,” she said as she looked down at her hands. She was twisting her fingers hard. When Giles put his hand over hers, she stopped. “Dr. Crusher says I’m human, but she also said I’ve got this weird energy in me. It’s what lets me walk through their force fields. So I guess I’m not quite human after all.”

Giles, sensing another round of hand-wringing on her part, gently disengaged her fingers and took one of her hands to hold in his own. “You do recall the phrase, ‘Chosen One,’ don’t you?” He smiled a little at her nod, then continued, “You were born with the potential to become the Slayer, but not with the ability. The energy that Dr. Crusher recorded is the essence of the Slayer — the gifts of strength, speed and healing that were bestowed upon you by the Powers. Did you know she found the same energy in me? I suspect it’s because I’m a sorcerer. Trust me when I say that you are very much human, Buffy.”

She gave him a look of frustration and said, “Then why can he hit me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “But I do know that we can ask Tara to take a look at the spell Willow used. Maybe she can come up with an explanation.” He took a deep breath and returned to their earlier topic, saying, “You said your affair with him started about the same time you found out he could hit you?”

“Yeah,” she said in a quiet voice. “It was — it was strange. It was like we were equals again. I could take everything out on him, and he could dish it right back. I was _so_ angry that night — with you, with Willow, with myself. We were in that condemned building, the one right around the corner from The Magic Box, and one minute, we were throwing each other into the walls, and the next — let’s just say we made the building fall down and go boom and leave it at that, okay?” She stopped, unwilling to go on until he agreed not to ask for specifics.

“I think I get the picture,” he said, uncertain whether to let loose with a gasp or a giggle. Instead, he bit down on his cheek to prevent both reactions.

“Thanks. Not really wanting to do a connect-the-dots for you,” she said before taking a deep breath. “The next morning, I thought I’d be sick to my stomach.”

She didn’t say anything more for a few minutes, so Giles prompted her gently with, “But you weren’t.”

“No. I just felt — it was — he — I —”

He took control of the discussion then and asked, “Tell me something. Did you feel worse because you slept with Spike or because you enjoyed having sex with him?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Judging from the way you tensed up, I’d have to say it was a combination of both, but mostly because you enjoyed it.”

“I never thought I would — like — some of the things we did that night,” she said. In an even quieter voice, she added, “And have done since then.”

“It’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it? I remember how it felt to find out the reality of my desires didn’t match my self-image,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. It was enough to bring her head up sharply as she looked into his face and eyes for answers to questions she was only just asking. He gave her a small grin and said, “You _do_ recall me mentioning a minor rebellion when I was 21, don’t you?”

“Yuh-huh,” she agreed with a wary note in her voice.

“The sexual revolution was still going very strong at the time, and I plunged in head-first. Relax. I think broad strokes will get my point across,” he said, amused by the look of near-horror that had crossed her face when she thought he was about to share too much information.

“What point is that?” She was curious despite herself and turned so she could look at him without craning her neck.

“No matter what you and Spike have done with and to one another, it’s highly unlikely that I haven’t done the same thing at least once. After Eyghon, I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t really enjoyed any of it at all,” he said. His face reflected his sorrow over that dark period in his life as he continued, “But it was useless. I made myself miserable with shame until I stopped denying it and started to accept certain aspects of my — personality. My point is that as long as you keep fighting against your natural inclinations, you will remain mired in your own shame and be unable to move forward.”

Her eyes were downcast when she said, “So — so does this mean you’re okay with me and Spike?”

He shook his head firmly and said, “No. I will never be ‘okay’ with you and Spike, though I can make a pretty good guess as to why you’re with him.” When she started to stand to walk away, he caught her arm and had her sit again. “Let me finish, Buffy. I won’t lie to you. I’m disappointed in your choice. But that disappointment is my problem, not yours. Do you understand?”

She looked at him for a long time, trying to find the recrimination she was sure had to be there. When she didn’t see it, she said, “Not really.”

“It’s your life, not mine. I can’t make your choices for you — that’s why I left back in November, remember? You wanted me to make all your decisions. You were refusing to live your life.” He thought carefully before speaking again, wanting to make sure she understood. “You have no idea how happy I was earlier when you listed off all that had happened. For the first time since you came back, I saw evidence that you were engaging in life again.”

“Some life,” she muttered, looking down at Giles’ right hand as it rested on the seat between them. She picked it up gently, examining the crooked fingers. “I’ve messed it up completely.”

“Of all the things you told me, you’re directly responsible _only_ for your decision to be with Spike. And if you’re participating in life again because of him — well, I can’t call that a mistake, even though I’d just as soon rip out my tongue than say so.” He paused, happy to hear the small giggle that escaped from her. “As for Dawn, yes, the two of you need help. We can see about it when we return to Sunnydale. All the rest is beyond your control.”

She reached over to give him a hug and managed to do it without breaking anything else. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the scent and feel of him. It was another moment before her eyes were open again and she said, “Giles, what the hell are you doing here?”

He laughed and leaned away from her. “I promised the captain an explanation when you and Spike were in the same room. I don’t fancy going over this more than once.” He stood then and cracked his back before offering a hand to help her up. “Shall we then?”

*****

In the main room of Sickbay, Deanna stood up when she heard the consulting room door open. She was amazed at the difference in the pair’s attitude, both toward one another and in general. She had never seen Buffy this relaxed and happy. She paged Picard to come down to Sickbay.

“Spike’s gonna have a cow when he —” Buffy stopped speaking when she took her first good look at her Watcher. “Giles?”

He stopped, confused when he realized she was no longer next to him. He turned back to her and said, “Yes?”

She looked up into his face and asked, “When did you get a girlfriend?”

“A girlfriend?” Stalling was always an option. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes, as though the action would somehow allow her to see into his soul. “Yes, you do. There is _no_ way you will ever get me to believe that you actually went out and spent your own money on an outfit that would look right at home on a top male model. Spill it. Who is she? Does she have a job? What are her intentions toward you? Is she evil?” With each question, she stepped closer to him. With each step she took toward him, Giles took one step back.

Beverly emerged from her office when she heard the conversation. It was one of those rare days when Sickbay was empty of patients, so she was able to watch the show relatively guilt-free. She stepped up to Deanna and said in a low voice, “What’s going on?”

In a voice just as low, Deanna answered, “Buffy wants to know who Giles is dating, and he’s avoiding the question.”

“_Is_ he dating anyone?”

Deanna looked at her sharply. Beverly’s interest was as unexpected as it was potentially amusing. “I don’t think so, but he’s hiding something from her.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Giles stammered, sidestepping a diagnostic bed as he continued to back away from her.

“Don’t lie to me, mister. Someone spent a lot of money to dress you up to make sure you looked acceptable in public,” she said, continuing her advance on him.

At that, he stopped retreating in favor of glaring at her. In an acidic tone, he said, “Thank you _very_ much for your vote of confidence. I shall be sure to remember it the next time I have to make my poorly dressed way in the world.”

“Come off your high horse and tell me who she is.” She gave him a speculative look and said, “Unless I’ve completely misread you for the last five years, and we’re talking about a boyfriend instead?”

He spluttered out, “There is no boyfriend! What difference does it make? You’ve never cared before.”

Beverly leaned in to whisper in Deanna’s ear, “She’s very good at this.”

Deanna whispered back, “You can’t tell, but he’s no slouch, either. He’s playing her.”

“You never looked like such a hottie before. Who bought the stuff, Giles?” Somehow, she managed to make the compliment sound like a threat of bodily harm.

“Buffy, please. It’s not important. We have real problems. Why do you think I came here?” As a ploy to get her off the subject of his clothing, it was weak, and he knew it. But he was still stalling for time, hoping someone — Spike, even — would come to his rescue. It was clear the two women watching them were enjoying the spectacle too much to take pity on him. Maybe the captain —

“Who. Bought. That. Outfit.” He jerked back at the look on her face. It was uncomfortably similar to the Cave-Slayer glare.

Picard walked in, noted the various positions of staff and visitors, then walked up to Beverly and Deanna and asked, “What’s going on?”

Beverly answered without taking her eyes off Giles and Buffy. “Argument about who dressed him. Buffy thinks he has a girlfriend. Deanna says no, but he _is_ hiding something.”

“Anya.”

“Anya?” It wasn’t the answer she expected. “Anya wouldn’t buy you clothes like that. She’s your partner, not —”

Giles knew he was running out of time, but he had to make one last attempt. “Buffy —”

“Willow’s spell,” she said as understanding dawned. “You two thought you were —” She stopped suddenly, her eyes getting huge as she said, “You had sex with Anya!”

“I did not!”

“Yes you did! Does Xander know? God! What am I asking? Of course he doesn’t know. If he did, you’d be part of one or all of the cornerstones of the new high school. I can’t believe you had sex with Anya,” she said, a look of wonder — and respect? — on her face.

“I did _not_ have sex with Anya, and I’ll thank you not to say that again!” His face was starting to get red.

“Then why is she dressing you like this? You might as well have a big flashing neon sign over your head that says, ‘Anya’s meat. Hands off.’” Her hands were on her hips as she leaned in and looked up at him.

“We did _not_ have sex! It was just a — a kiss. That was it!” He tried to lean away from her, but there was an inconvenient wall at his back.

If anything, she seemed to be even more outraged by his admission. “You _kissed_ her? How? Why? How?”

“It was one kiss — spell-induced, I might add — and there hasn’t been one since. And there _won’t_ be,” he said, hoping the finality in his statement would be enough to end the conversation.

“What is it with you and spells? Every time you get hit by one, you start making with inappropriate kissage. And speaking of that, why should I believe you when you say it was only a kiss? The last time this happened, it was _months_ before I found out the truth.” She was in his face as much as she could be, considering there was a difference of almost a foot in their respective heights.

He’d had enough. “I don’t know, ‘Mrs. Big Pile of Dust.’ What is it with _us_ and spells and inappropriate kissing?”

The trio of observers blinked. Picard spoke first, saying, “What happened? She was winning right up until the end.”

Beverly frowned, and said, “He got her with that last comment.”

“Indeed, I did,” Giles said, turning at last to their audience. “Now, I believe the time has come to ask Spike to join our little party. I’m sure Captain Picard is anxious to know why we’ve invaded his ship.”


	10. Harmageddon

Spike sauntered into the conference room he’d been called to, a look of lazy disdain on his face. He scanned those who had been waiting for him to arrive and was about to ask where Buffy was when he froze at a soft British tenor saying, “William. You’ve been a _very_ naughty boy.”

He turned and spotted Giles in the back corner. The last time he’d seen that particular expression on the Watcher’s face was at the Magic Box the day he’d told him to leave off stalking the Slayer. Buffy was standing next to him, her face closed to him. _No help there, then,_ he thought, deciding to brazen it out. “Rupert. Didn’t expect to see you again. Thought you hightailed it out of Sunny D for good.” And by all the balls of the lower beings, he wished he had a cigarette.

“Oh? You thought? You actually used your brain?” Spike clenched his jaw. The man was trying to provoke him.

“Buffy —”

She looked at him as she said, “Personally, I think you should be happy Captain Picard wouldn’t let him have a flaming baseball bat. Could have gotten ugly.”

It was all he could do to not let his game face show. He couldn’t believe she was — no. Wait. He _could_ believe she was acting like this. It was no different than in Sunnydale. Bitch. And anyway, “How’d Rupes end up here? Glinda said she couldn’t open the portal wide enough without knowin’ the spell. This mean we can go home?”

“No. It doesn’t,” Giles said, choosing not to explain any further. Looking far more dangerous than any human had a right to, especially when he was talking to a vampire, he continued, “We have a great deal to discuss, so sit down.”

Still trying to maintain his attitude, Spike slouched a bit and added a slight sneer to his face. He started to say, “Don’t think —”

“Sit!”

He did, even as he tried to tell himself he was going to do so anyway. He noticed the rest of the room was quiet, with everyone but Giles and Data looking down at their hands. Data was too fascinated by the interplay to do anything other than watch it.

“We have a problem, Spike, and _you_ are part of the solution,” Giles said. He walked around the room slowly, stalking Spike.

“What makes you think I’ll help?” He had to do something to try and regain his title as the room’s reigning Big Bad. It galled him that Giles had taken it away with little more than a few words topped off by a glare. And what the hell was he doing wearing those clothes? Where was the tweed? The poncy business suits? The baggy sweaters?

Giles just behind Spike now. He gripped the vampire’s neck, leaning down as if to share a confidence, and said in a low voice, “I know what you’ve been doing with my Slayer, Spike, and I don’t like it one bit. You will do what I tell you and when I tell you to do it, or you will find a pointed wooden object in your chest for the few moments you have remaining. Are we clear on the fact that I own every single part of your anatomy for the duration?”

Spike gulped. “Um. Yeah. When you put it that way.”

When he stood up straight again, he smiled down at the vampire and said, “Good. I’m glad we understand one another.” He looked around the table, noting that Buffy had taken a seat across from Data and was carefully examining her nails for splits and breaks. He turned to the head of the conference table and said, “Captain, shall I begin?”

Picard looked up and saw that Spike was not only sitting quietly, but was also making an attempt to look attentive. He answered, “Certainly, Mr. Giles. I’m looking forward to an explanation.”

Giles did a very small double-take at Picard’s tone of voice. He knew the three of them were close to skating on thin ice as far as the captain was concerned, but he didn’t realize just how close they were. He shot Picard an apologetic smile, then began with, “When Buffy and Spike fell into your universe, a previously dormant line of demonic prophecy was ac —”

“Prophecy?” Picard’s voice carried the absolute certainty of scientific disbelief when he interrupted Giles. “Prophecy? You’re trying to tell me you’re here because of a prophecy?”

“Well, yes. _I_ am, at any rate. Buffy and Spike are just here by accident, as far as I can tell,” Giles said, taken aback in the face of the captain’s hostility.

Buffy raised her hand and said, “Um, Giles? Probably not an accident. We think it was the Legion of Dim.”

Giles frowned as he sorted through his garbled memories of the conversation he’d had with Willow, Xander and the others before he left. He said, “You mean Jonathan, Warren and Tucker’s brother?”

“Those are the ones,” she said.

“But why on earth would they send —”

“Mr. Giles! Please. Could we focus on why you’re here?” Picard felt his patience slipping away almost as quickly as it did when Q was in the room.

“Actually, we were, Captain,” Giles answered in a tone of voice that made Picard feel as if he were ten years old again and standing guilty in front of the headmaster. Buffy sent a sympathetic glance to the captain. She’d been on the receiving end of her Watcher’s sarcasm, and she knew how bad it could get, especially when he got around to proving himself right and everyone else wrong.

Giles started cleaning his lenses when he continued, “The fact that those three young men opened a portal to this specific universe may well mean they’re attempting to force a change in which of the prophecies will dictate the future — _our_ future. If that happens, it will lead to major and unalterable changes in our world. I-I don’t know about you, Captain, but I regard that as a significant piece of information.”

Picard risked a quick look at Troi, but she was completely focused on Giles. He caught Buffy’s sympathetic look instead. He might have bristled at the implications in that glance, but he was too honest with himself to avoid accepting responsibility for irritating Giles. He took a deep breath and modulated his tone toward conciliatory, saying, “I apologize, Mr. Giles. I’m a man of science, and what you’re suggesting is beyond belief.”

He must have said the right thing, because the other man no longer looked as if he wanted to take a piece out of Picard’s hide. Instead, he cocked his head slightly and said, “Yes, I can see how you might find it — difficult to listen to such a discussion. Tell me, captain, does this universe have no prophecies at all?”

He said, “The Bajorans have prophetic works.”

“Bajorans?”

“One of the species of sentient beings in this universe,” Picard said. “They are extremely religious, though given how much they suffered under Cardassian occupation, that’s hardly a surprise.”

Giles walked away from Spike, moving around the end of the table opposite from Picard. His glasses were still off, and he was chewing lightly on the stem as he considered what he had been told. Frowning slightly, he looked at Picard and said, “Highly religious or highly mystical?”

“Does it make a difference?” Picard asked, puzzled by Giles’ question.

“If I may, Captain?” Data waited for permission to continue. When he received it, he said, “There is a significant difference between a society which is predominantly mystical and one which is predominantly religious. In a society where mysticism rules, the individual members are more likely to develop their own rules and belief system. Cults run rampant as leaders attempt to gather followers to their point of view. In a society where religion dominates, the priests have a greater ability to control how mysticism is viewed and expressed, ensuring that everyone shares the same vision. On Bajor, there seems to be a stable balance of priests and mystics, with each group both using and supporting the other group. In fact —”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Giles said, regretting his impulse to request a clarification. It hadn’t been necessary for the discussion at hand. He wondered briefly if he sounded like Data to the children, then dropped the thought in favor of continuing his dialogue with Picard.

“Klingons have a number of prophecies as well, Mr. Giles,” Worf said. “I would be honored to share them with you one evening.” He’d been allowed to attend the meeting on his word of honor that he would not approach Buffy without her express consent _and_ the approval of Mr. Giles. He’d given it willingly for the chance to look at the woman who had so completely won his heart. He smiled at her, admiring how she looked away to protect her modesty.

Giles looked at him, his mouth open slightly, wondering how he was going to discourage Worf from showing up at his quarters to discuss irrelevant prophecy. Picard saw the look and, interpreting it correctly, said, “That’s very generous, Mr. Worf, but I believe Mr. Giles is speaking of prophecies in general.”

He shot the captain of look of gratitude before continuing his slow pacing around the room. “Indeed. So prophecies _do_ exist in this universe. Are they accurate?”

Picard was about to answer in the negative when he realized something. “You know — I have absolutely no idea. Mr. Data?”

Data reached toward the terminal in front of him and accessed the Federation database. After a few minutes, he said, “Bajoran prophecies have been deemed accurate over a period of three thousand years. Scientists have been able to match predicted events with actual events to an exceptional degree.”

Picard looked at Giles, who was nodding thoughtfully. He said, “In our reality, the Pergamum Codex has never been wrong. Not once.”

Riker spoke up now, and said, “The Pergamum Codex?”

Buffy answered, “Prophecies about the Slayer. The problem with it — and every other prophecy in existence — is that even though they’re accurate, they’re incomplete. You have to be able to read the details between the lines, or at least guess at them.”

Giles took over from her, saying, “Our lack of experience at — reading between the lines — led to Buffy’s death. Had we ignored what was written, had I allowed her to avoid facing the Master, she never would have died.”

Troi spoke up and said, “Is that how you died last year?”

Buffy shook her head and said, “No. Last year was because of Glory — a skanky hellgod trying to get home. The first time I died, I was sixteen. I’d only known Giles a couple of months, and we were still trying to figure each other out.” She shook off the flood of memories from that earlier time and added, “Anyway, the point is that prophecies are tricky things. No matter how hard you try to avoid the outcome, you usually end up fulfilling it.”

With a gentle smile and a hand on her shoulder, Giles added, “Or, if you’re Buffy, you end up turning it on its ear. She died at the Master’s hands, which fulfilled the prophecy, allowing him to escape from the Hellmouth. It was her blood, you see. He needed it so he could gain enough strength to break free. Happily, she was resuscitated by a friend of hers who refused to let her go gentle into the good night.”

Data spoke now, his face showing intense curiosity when he said, “Are there other examples you —”

“Data,” Picard said. It was enough to settle the android down, and he said, “Could you please continue with what you started to say, Mr. Giles?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Of course,” he said, trying to recall where he’d been before all this started. Ah. There it was. “Captain, your universe and mine both have examples of highly accurate prophecies, though I can see from your face that you are unwilling to accept them as such. Science and all, yes?”

Picard managed to look and feel apologetic. Even in the face of trustworthy evidence, he refused to believe that a person’s future could be dictated by anyone but the individual in question. On the other hand, given what he’d seen since Buffy and Spike’s arrival, an open mind was the better course of action. He just hoped Giles could persuade him sufficiently. “I wish I could accept what you say, sir, but I cannot accept that everyone’s fate is laid out for them from birth.”

Giles nodded, “It’s not. Only a very few suffer that particular — fate.” Then he asked, “Captain, are you having trouble accepting the mystical aspect of prophecies?”

“To be honest, yes,” he answered. Picard leaned back into his chair, and said, “Everything I am screams against the idea of mystical and mythical beings with a — with direct orders from God.”

Giles stopped moving and fixed Picard with a look and a question. “Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Why? You believe we’re from a different reality, yet the notion of destiny makes you squirm. I can’t help but wonder why,” Giles said. “You have no plausible explanation for Buffy’s strength or Spike’s existence, but you’ll accept them at face value. Why not go for the simplest explanation and simply say there are mystical forces at work?”

“Fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll accept that the energy signature we see in that pair could be called ‘mystical’ in your universe. But that doesn’t explain the energy Dr. Crusher found in you — unless everyone in your reality has the same energy reading?”

Giles paused, then said, “I believe I know why I have a similar energy reading.” At Picard’s quizzical look, he continued, “Do you believe that it’s possible that certain physical laws and conditions exist in our world which may or may not be present in yours?”

“Perhaps,” Picard said reluctantly.

“Magic exists in our world,” Giles watched the other man, admiring his poker face.

“Define magic,” Picard said. His eyes were narrowed as he considered the path Giles was leading him down. It was clear that there were pitfalls and traps laying in wait, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see them yet.

“The ability to alter reality only with one’s will,” he answered, ignoring Spike’s muttered, “Alter this, bloody wanker.”

Picard thought for a long moment, then said, “There are — beings — in this reality who are able to alter reality using their will. I wouldn’t use the word ‘magic’.”

“Are humans able to alter reality along those lines?”

“No. Not humans.” Then, in an attempt to cover himself, Picard added, “Not that I’m aware of. The ability you describe is exhibited by beings who are more highly evolved than humans.”

“Do your instruments describe me as human?” Giles was looking at Picard with an unnerving intensity. Picard had a feeling he was already in one of Giles’ pitfalls and was only just realizing it.

Crusher spoke up, now, and said, “Without question.”

Giles looked at Data and asked, “Do you have one of those tricorders?”

He was puzzled by the question, but said, “Yes. In one of the cabinets behind you.”

“Please get it and take a reading of the conference table.”

Data looked to Picard, who nodded his permission to proceed. Buffy watched Data get up and walk to one of the walls, then she said, “Giles? What are you planning to do?”

“Something I’ve not done in years. I hope I haven’t forgotten how,” he answered as he watched Data take readings of the table.

“You gonna be okay? Willow used to complain about headaches,” she said, frowning up at him. “Or if there’s gonna be a nosebleed, I’m issuing a Slayer’s veto on the whole demonstration deal.”

“I’m not planning to reorder the laws of time and space, so I should be fine.” At the deepening of her frown, he added, “Perhaps a small headache, but no more than that.”

“No nosebleeds?”

“I promise, no nosebleeds.” When he saw that Data was waiting for him, he pointed to the space in front of Picard’s chair and said, “Watch.”

Giles took a deep breath, then reached deeply into himself to access his magic. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it had been years. The last time he’d used magic in this fashion was the night Randall died. It was difficult, but not overly so, and the potential benefit — Picard’s understanding — was worth a bit of discomfort. He sent a tendril of magic into the conference table, then started calling to the bits and pieces that made the table solid and real. Taking a bit from throughout the table, but not enough to impair its integrity, he sent the bits and pieces to a spot in front of Picard. He reordered them carefully to match the image in his mind. When he was satisfied, he released the magic into the bits he’d gathered, allowing them to coalesce into an object that matched the image in his mind.

He told Picard, “Go ahead and pick it up. Spike wouldn’t be happy doing so, but it won’t hurt you.”

When Picard made no move toward the object, Buffy said, “I don’t know, Giles. Maybe there are splinters.”

He shot his Slayer a dirty look before saying to Data, “Well?”

Data had walked around to Picard’s chair during Giles’ demonstration, keeping his tricorder trained on the space in front of the captain. He reached down and picked it up, saying, “Captain, the composition of the cross matches that of the conference table precisely.” He turned his tricorder to the table and added, “The mass of the conference table has been depleted by an amount equal to the mass of the cross. Curious. It is imbued with the same energy Dr. Crusher found in Mr. Giles this morning.”

Picard looked up at Giles and said, “How?”

“Magic. Or perhaps it’s the same mechanism your more highly evolved beings use. I’m not sure, and I don’t think it really matters. The point is that I have the ability to do something in your reality that you thought was impossible for a human to do,” Giles said, rubbing his neck to relieve the tension headache that erupted after he called forth the cross. “Or perhaps I mean, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

“Thank you very much, Willy. Are we done with the magic show?” Spike was unhappy over the presence of the cross — it was the first one he’d seen in twelve blissful days. Of all the things Giles could have magicked up, did it have to be that? And speaking of magic, when the hell did he get so casual over its use? Bad enough the Watcher could attack him with weapons. Worse still if he started throwing mojo at him. He shuddered at the possibility that Giles might take his revenge by ensouling him.

“Spike, do be quiet,” he answered, oblivious to the line of thought the vampire was following.

Picard found himself more deeply affected by the demonstration than he thought possible. He took the cross out of Data’s hand to examine it more closely. It wasn’t a simple t-bar. Giles had added subtle decorative touches, including a statement that ran around the edge. His Latin was a bit rusty, but he translated out loud, “I watch. I teach. I remember. I stand at her side, ready to die in her service. I give myself wholly and freely. I pledge my soul to the demands of light.”

He looked up to find Giles smiling at a private thought. In response to Picard’s unspoken question, he said, “A bit overblown, but that’s the Watcher’s Oath for you. Louis Abellard, Watcher to Jeanne the Vampire Slayer, carved that cross in 1467. The original is in the Council’s historical collection. I’ve always been rather fond of it.”

Turning it over in his hands, Picard examined it with his hands and eyes as he considered what just happened. Taken as a whole, the notion of prophecies didn’t seem quite as absurd as they had earlier. He looked up, “Prophecies, you said?” He could work with prophecies, but demons? They were still beyond him, despite having seen Spike’s other face.

Giles kept the smile off his face. He always chided Buffy for gloating after a victory, and he wasn’t going to give her ammunition to use against him. He was about to resume his pacing when he felt someone take his forearm and press something against his bicep. He frowned, but before he could ask her what she’d done, Dr. Crusher said, “How’s your headache?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “It’s gone. Thank you.” He was about to step away when he took a second look at her face. There was something in her expression that made him more than a little nervous. Rather than examine his own reaction to her, he retreated behind his wall, choosing to ignore it. He took a deep breath and said, “Right, then. When Buffy and Spike fell through the portal, the Kam!fit’n line —”

“Didn’t that hurt your throat?” He had never understood how Buffy could manage to look so innocent when at her most insolent. The expression on her face radiated concern, but the expression in her eyes —

Giles glared at her, but admitted, “Yes, a bit —”

“And there isn’t an easier way to say it? Like maybe one the rest of us could pronounce?” She intensified her look of wide-eyed wonder, making him think yet again that he’d exposed her too much to his own brand of sarcasm.

He sighed, both at the thought and at her point. She was right. “The human bastardization is Kamalfitin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Giles,” she said in sweetly fake admiration.

He didn’t bother glaring at her. It never seemed to do any good anyway. “The Kamalfitin left a line of prophecy behind when they either left our reality or went extinct about five hundred years ago — we’ve never been certain what happened to them. A Watcher by the name of Geoffrey Cantor killed the last one after she went mad with grief and loneliness.”

Picard was appalled, “What do you mean, killed her? If she was the last one —”

“What good would it have done to force Vop!rish to live? The species required both male and female to reproduce, and it wasn’t as if there was any way to find her a mate. Killing her was the kindest thing Cantor could do under the circumstances. It was also quite painful for him. According to his notes in the foreword of his translation, they had been good friends before he was forced to battle her,” Giles said. He waited for the captain to absorb this.

Spike, meanwhile, had been thinking about the name of the species Giles mentioned. He didn’t recognize it, but that was hardly a surprise. The demons disappeared long before William was even born. But there was something familiar about it. In the silence between Giles and Picard, he said, “Data, what were you sayin’ about how you finally figured out how to see an’ hear me?”

Data turned to Spike with a slight frown and asked, “What do you wish to know?” Both Buffy and Spike taxed Data’s subprocessors with their expectation that he could immediately follow whatever train of thought they were on. At the same time, however, they were forcing him to become creative in his attempts to follow along. He believed they were helping him to become more — human — by their casual assumption that he was as capable as they were of making intuitive connections.

“You know — that species with the magic — what was it again?” Spike could almost remember, but he couldn’t pull it off the tip of his tongue without thinking of the demons the Watcher talked about. Giles turned to look at Spike when he heard the question.

“Magic? I said nothing about magic,” Data answered, his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Sure you did. Said they had bits and pieces they made out of nothin’ — the stuff your technology couldn’t see. It was what helped you figure out how to make you and the ship recognize me,” he said, a bit more frustrated.

“The Molvedane?”

“That’s it! Hey Watcher — what does Molvedane sound like?” Spike smirked at Giles, pleased to be able to shove at least one piece of the puzzle up the man’s ass.

Giles looked at Spike with an expression that combined a bit of shock with wonder. He honestly hadn’t believed that Spike would accept his authority. “Kamalfitin. It fits. ‘Ka’ is just an adjectival prefix — it means bright and shining — but it could have been dropped. And five hundred years in our reality —”

Buffy picked up the thread, saying, “Means five thousand in this reality, which, if I remember my linguistics right, means there was plenty of time for the sounds to shift and evolve to their current name. _And_,” she added triumphantly, “it could also explain why the prophecies activated when we came into this universe.”

“Explains it all too well, I think,” Giles said. “We need to read through the translations the Council sent, and I think I’ll ask Tara to get hold of the originals as well.” He turned to Data and said, “These Molvedane, are they still around?”

Data accessed the computer again and said, “Yes. The last contact was seven years ago. _Enterprise_ could travel there in nineteen days at warp five.”

Giles gave him a large, approving smile and said, “Wonderful. I look forward to meeting them. Buffy, Spike, come along. Now that we have more information, we can start getting a better read on the prophecies.”

The three were almost to the door when Picard forcefully vocalized (more accurately, he yelled), “Wait right there! No one moves another centimeter until you tell me what just transpired.”


	11. In Space, Nobody Wants to Hear You Scream

Spike didn’t go back to their quarters after their meeting with Picard and his lot. Instead, he went to an available holodeck and started beating up whatever he could get the ship to generate for him. For a long time, he pounded the daylights out of a Tellarite, saying, “Fucking Watcher. Had to show up. Bloody Slayer’s probably clearin’ out my stuff and makin’ the captain give me a new place to sleep. Oh wait. We’re talkin’ about Buffy, here. Bitch probably threw my shit out into the hall for anyone to steal.”

He went on in that vein for several hours before he decided that he exhausted himself enough to not attack Buffy the moment he saw her. When he entered their (her) quarters, the chip on his shoulder was large enough to exert its own gravitational force. Engrossed in the reading Giles had given her, Buffy failed to appreciate the bleached blonde bundle of attitude quivering before her. She gave him an absent-minded greeting as she tried to make sense of the role she was apparently to play.

“Oh, right! Watcher’s here, so Spike doesn’t count, is that it?” He was pacing back and forth, wondering how he could have ever thought he would be too tired to want to throttle her.

“Huh?” She looked up, confused.

“What? You can’t even be bothered to pay me any mind, now? That’s the thanks I get for keepin’ you together these last two months,” he said, twirling suddenly to leave. His duster just barely avoided the sliding door as it closed.

Buffy sat there for a moment, thought about what he’d just said, then wrote his babbling off to him having spent too many years with Drusilla. She shrugged and went back to her reading. Sooner or later, he’d be coherent enough to tell her what his problem was.

Spike’s next stop was Giles’ quarters. They were two decks up and on the other side of the ship. He wanted to burst in, but the ship wouldn’t allow that. By the time Giles responded to the door chime, Spike’s rage had been blunted.

“Spike? What do you want?” He didn’t answer, other than to storm into Giles’ cabin. _That answers that question,_ Giles thought. _Temporary housing doesn’t count as a home._

He stopped at the table, head down, shoulders bowed. “I love her. Why the hell won’t anyone believe me?” Giles didn’t think he’d ever heard the vampire sound quite so defeated. Even after Buffy’s death, he’d maintained his bravado, disdaining sympathy and condolences.

Giles sighed, wondering just when it was that Spike had managed to find a small, unkempt, poorly lit corner of his heart. In a quiet voice, he answered, “I believe you.”

Spike turned to face him and said, “What?”

Hands tucked as far as they could go into the front pockets of his tight jeans, Giles repeated, “I believe you. I believe you love Buffy.”

A wild hope sprung up in Spike, and it showed in his eyes. “You have to tell her that. She trusts you — she’ll believe it comin’ from you.”

Giles was shaking his head and backing up even as Spike made his demand. “No. Absolutely not. In the first place, it’s not up to me to convince her. That’s your job. In the second place,” he said, his voice rising slightly, “why would I _want_ to? For god’s sake, Spike. You’re a vampire. Is it really so difficult for you to remember that? I should think the liquid diet and lack of a heartbeat would be enough to remind you, even here.”

“You don’t know, Rupert,” he said, determined not to cry in front of the man. “You don’t know what it’s been like these last two months. These last two weeks especially, I feel like I’ve been handed the world on a platter, and it’s all because of her.” Frustrated, Spike ran his hand through his hair, leaving a turbulent mess in its wake.

“I know —”

“You don’t! You can’t. They recycle the air here. There’s not a place I can go on this ship where I can’t catch her scent. Sometimes, I’ll be walkin’ along, mindin’ my own business, and I’ll walk under an air duct. And there she is, large as life, surroundin’ me, gettin’ into my nose, my lungs — and there I’ll stand like a right prat ‘til the ventilation system sends her all over the place again.”

Giles paused. He hadn’t really understood just how lost Spike was to his Slayer. It was one thing to hear the words, “I love her,” but it was quite another to see just how affected he really was. He looked down, finally, unable to continue watching Spike in his agony, and said, “What’s brought all this on?”

“You. You came here, and now I won’t be with her ever again,” Spike said.

Giles frowned slightly, and not just because of the vampire’s melodramatic delivery. He looked up and said, “What are you talking about?”

“Buffy. Now you’re here, I can’t sleep with her anymore.”

“She told you this?” Giles was confused. There had been no promises that Buffy would end the relationship. In fact, he’d been left with the impression that she intended to continue it for the near future. If she had changed her mind —

Giles’ question stopped Spike cold. He thought back to the conversation — rant — he’d had with her just before he went to see Giles. He realized that he hadn’t seen any luggage out for him. Nor, for that matter, had Buffy asked him what he was doing there. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I take it she didn’t actually kick you out?” Disappointment colored his voice, and it was enough to make Spike look at him and grin.

“Nope. Too bad for you.” He walked by Giles to head back to Buffy and was startled when the Watcher grabbed his arm and swung him around.

“I meant what I said earlier, Spike. I don’t like you and Buffy being together. I’ll tolerate it for her sake, but if I ever once think you’re leading her deeper into darkness rather than back to her family and friends, I’ll stake you and take my chances with her. Are we clear?”

Ice green eyes stared down into bright blue eyes for a very long moment before Spike finally blinked and nodded. “Right. Got it.”

Giles released his hold on Spike. As he turned away, he said, “Be back here at eight tomorrow morning. We need to go over the prophecy and determine what role you are to play.”

Spike didn’t bother to answer as he left.

*****

Morning — didn’t dawn. Nor was it bright, and there was no way to tell if it was even early. Giles sipped his tea as he tried to reconcile the ship’s time, nearly eight hundred hours, with the sight of deep space outside his window. Or would it be port? Either way, it was a peaceful view. The stars burned hard and bright without an atmosphere to make them twinkle, and he rather liked them that way. It seemed more honest, somehow. His years on the Hellmouth had taught him that looking down was far wiser than keeping an eye on the heavens, so he’d forgotten how lovely the stars in the night sky could be. Danger didn’t come from the sky.

Well.

There was that once, but it was an exception to the rule. The lower beings were called “lower” for a reason, and it was the same reason the Initiative had come up with that absurd name for them. Hostile sub-terrestrials indeed. He allowed himself a very small smirk, then immediately felt guilty. No matter how much he loathed Maggie Walsh and her misguided efforts — and make no mistake, he still did — she hadn’t deserved to die the way she did or be zombified the way she was.

He shook off his gloomy thoughts when he heard the door chime. “Come in,” he called, triggering the door to open.

Spike walked in, last night’s upset apparently forgotten. “Buffy’s on her way. Got a new outfit from the bleedin’ replicator, but couldn’t stand it. Now she’s got to get somethin’ else.”

With a wry expression, Giles asked, “Are you certain you wish to stand by your assertion that she’s on her way?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again to consider the question before him. He took a deeper than strictly necessary breath and said, “You’re right. We’ll be lucky if we see her before the end of the day. Whenever the hell that might be.”

“Agreed. Have a seat,” Giles said, gesturing to a chair at the table. Books and papers were spread across the top. Before he left Sunnydale for this odd universe, he chose most of them for potential usefulness rather than a certainty that they were actually needed. He held up a book and said, “This is the first volume of a two-volume set. Buffy has the other book.”

“Yeah. She was readin’ it when I got back last night,” he answered, reaching out to take the book from Giles. He opened the cover to look for a publication date and saw that it was either first or second edition. Whichever it was, “Gotta be a headache for you, readin’ this. How many spellin’ changes are there in the same paragraph?”

His eyebrows went up slightly in surprise, and Giles answered, “Not as many as I would have expected. Both volumes are remarkably easy to read.”

“So what’s in here, anyway? New and excitin’ ways for the world to end?”

Giles shook his head and answered, “No. That’s more or less what I expected, but no. Instead, there’s a promise of fealty to the Slayer if she defeats the great evil that terrorizes the Kamalfitin.”

“You’re jokin’,” he said, a look of disbelief on his face as he examined the Watcher for signs of humor. When he didn’t find them, he said, “What makes you think Picard’ll take us to see them?”

“You know what true prophecy is like. Try to evade it, and you end up with Fate rubbing your nose in it. If this,” he said, tapping on the volume Spike still held, “is true, and I think it is, we will be on our way to the Molvedane world in fairly short order.”

“Why should —” Spike was interrupted by the door chime.

Expecting Buffy, Giles called out, “Come in!” Both he and Spike were surprised to see Picard stalk in, anger radiating from him in waves.

“You!” Picard pointed at Giles. “What have you done?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Captain,” Giles said in a placating voice. It was the same voice he used to use whenever Joyce needed to vent and laid into him over Buffy’s calling.

“I’ve just received a transmission from Admiral Hemberson. Do you know who Admiral Hemberson is?” He would have answered in the negative, but stopped himself in time. Five years with the Scooby Gang eroded his mental capacity sufficiently to make it somewhat difficult for him to recognize a rhetorical question when he heard one. Instead, he waited for the other man to get to the point.

“Admiral Hemberson is Starfleet’s liaison to the Federation in matters of developing trade relations with non-allied worlds,” Picard said. “Would you like to know why he contacted _Enterprise_?”

When it was clear that Picard was waiting for a response, Giles offered a tentative, “Well, yes. If you’d like to tell me, that is.”

“He ordered me to go to Kamembry, homeworld of the Molvedane —”

“Called _that_ one, Watcher. Remind me not to make any bets with you, right?” Spike leaned back, amused by the look on Picard’s face and by the way his heart raced and his blood pressure rose.

“What are you talking about, Spike?”

His voice was a low menace, but Picard just didn’t have it in him to be as threatening as Giles. For one thing, Spike knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the captain would sooner talk him to death than raise a hand against him. Still, it was a valid question, and he wanted very much to remain on everyone’s good side for the time being. He answered, “Just before you came in, we was talkin’. Rupes said if the prophecy was true, we’d be on our way to see the Molvedane, whether you liked it or not.”

Picard turned to glare at Giles, who raised his hands, palms out, in apology. “I-I did try to warn you yesterday, Captain.”

“I hope you’re happy, then,” he bit out. No one liked to hear, “I told you so.” He turned to leave when Giles stopped him cold.

“Um, Captain. Now that the proof is in the pudding, I wonder if I might have the services of Mr. Data, given that I found reference to him in volume one.” Giles didn’t look at Picard when he spoke. It was all he could do not to cringe when he felt the other man’s eyes boring into his back. Instead, he focused on Spike, whose face could be quite animated when his interest was engaged.

“What do you mean?” Picard’s voice, low and silky, still couldn’t match the menace of Ripper on the prowl. Spike felt a bit sorry for him.

“Erm — Mr. Data. He’s mentioned as a golden-eyed warrior,” Giles said.

“Oi! I’m a golden-eyed warrior, ain’t I?” Spike felt offended that Giles was overlooking him.

“There are two mentioned. You’re one of them,” he answered, even as he waited for an explosion behind him.

“Show me.”

“Spike, it’s page 42,” Giles said as he indicated that he should hold the book up for the captain. He added, “Second stanza, line five, if I recall correctly.”

Giles risked a glance at Picard’s face. It was red, and he looked as if he were about to spit fire, but he didn’t look homicidal. Yet. _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Giles thought to himself before saying, “And I wonder, is there any chance one of your people might be able to serve as a sparring partner for Buffy? She needs to practice with a sword, but Dr. Crusher has forbidden me from training until she’s certain my — injuries — are healed.”

Spike gave him a sharp look, but Giles ignored it, waiting for Picard’s response. Five minutes passed before it came.

“I will release Commander Data to work with you, but on the understanding that he reports your findings to me on a daily basis. As for the other, she can use the holodeck programs,” Picard said.

“No, she can’t,” Spike answered. Giles shot a questioning look at him, and Spike continued, “They aren’t real. They’re too predictable and she gets sloppy with them. She needs a live partner.”

“Then you work with her,” Picard said.

“I’m dead, remember?” He grinned at Picard and added, “Anyway, I never learned how to use a sword. And if Watcher’s off the clock due to medical reasons which he _will_ explain, her skills will go to hell in a handbasket,” he said.

He said to Giles, “Didn’t you say she’d have to fight to win their fealty?” At Giles’ nod of agreement, Spike looked at Picard again and said, “She needs a real person to work with, if she’s to have any hope in hell of survivin’ this.”

*****

Some 270 years earlier, a group of would-be colonists with a shared Scottish ancestry and a love for Highland athletics asked for and received permission to claim a new world for themselves. Almost ten thousand people made the journey over a period of six years, and then suddenly, the migration stopped. The colonists were cut off from Earth and her resources abruptly and without explanation. To make matters worse, the planet itself seemed to conspire with the universe against them surviving, let alone thriving.

Famine and plague decimated the population, leaving the survivors — the strongest-willed among all the original colonists — to make certain creative decisions regarding their world’s social order. The few biologists remaining pointed out in no uncertain terms that they didn’t have enough fertile women left to support a policy of monogamy _and_ to rebuild a genetically diverse pool of humanity. Polygamy was adopted with a vengeance. Each woman took from four to six men as husbands, and each was obliged to produce at least one child from each of her husbands.

The system worked well, and within a span of a single century, the colony was on its way to becoming the success its founders imagined. Monogamy never did come back into style, though. The plural marriages that had developed out of necessity turned out to provide the best chance for children to survive to adulthood on a hostile planet.

When the Federation rediscovered the colony some thirty years before Spike and Buffy’s unannounced arrival, they found a society whose interrelationships were, at best, tangled, murky and confusing to outsiders. Social scientists also found that the people of Glenmorangie (named for founder Alex Campbell’s favorite distillery on Earth) were loud, friendly, boisterous and unfailingly crude. Taken as a whole or individually, Glenmorangians were a shock to Federation sensibilities.

Still, the colony had much to offer, should it be so inclined. It took seventeen years and several bribes of access to education and new technology to convince the Glenmorangie colony to join the Federation. Within three years, the world sent its first child to join Starfleet. If she did well, they would consider sending others. By anyone’s standard, Lieutenant Meg Burns _had_ done well. She graduated in the top ten percent of her class and served rotations on two other vessels before earning her current assignment to the pride of the fleet, _Enterprise_.

Meg specialized in programming with an emphasis on communication systems. The day after Giles sent Picard’s worldview into a tailspin, two things happened to Meg. The first was quite exciting. Commander Riker asked if she would like to test as a sparring partner for the woman who had come through the interdimensional portal. Meg was one of only a handful of people on board who had experience with anything other than an epee, and she was a top-level champion in her weight and weapon class. She was looking forward to crossing blades with the woman who’d made mincemeat of Lieutenant Worf’s hand-to-hand fighting skills.

The second was an argument she had with DB — Data’s Bastard — over a series of errors in the universal translator. DB was a diagnostic routine with delusions of sentience, though for all Meg or anyone else knew, the software truly was sentient. Commander Data wrote it using code he learned when he was working to disengage Captain Picard from the Borg Collective. Combined with lines of code from his own programming, the result was a piece of software with Federation ethics and Borg tactics. DB kept trying to assimilate lines of code from systems throughout the ship, piously insisting that it was only to help protect the lifeforms aboard her. Data had to periodically and forcefully restrain and retrain the code. If it hadn’t been so thoroughly useful (and right all the time), Picard would have ordered it wiped from _Enterprise’s_ systems long ago.

“Lieutenant Burns, your insistence on further proof is as pointless as it is time-consuming,” DB said.

She rolled her eyes for the fifth time and answered, “Selek is shift commander, you daft bastard. You know full good and well he won’t accept just your word for it.” Exasperated, she added, “For god’s sake, we’ve been through this enough times for you to know you have to show the sodding math.”

DB attempted to sniff in disdain. It failed yet again to get the sound just right, so it said, “Fine. You can see the ‘sodding math’ on viewscreen three. And when you show Commander Selek the ‘sodding math,’ be sure to get permission for me to check the communication system. There are corresponding oddities.”

She was too busy looking at the viewscreen to pay much attention to DB’s use of the word “me” or to wonder when it managed to learn sarcasm. She was also irritated over the fact that Data’s Bastard was right once again — there was something _very_ wrong with the translator.


	12. Upside Down

He stood at his viewport, seeing the stars rush by. Few could tolerate looking at raw space when the ship was at warp, so in actuality, Picard was watching a computer simulation of stars rushing toward and past the ship. He was in a bad mood. He’d been in one since Buffy and Spike upended his ship’s routine, and it was made worse by the arrival of her mentor.

Of the three of them, Giles should have been the most comforting, the easiest with whom to deal, but he wasn’t. Though Buffy and Spike were rude, impudent and violent, Picard had dealt with their type before and could accept them on that basis. Giles, on the other hand, was a refined adult and British to the core. He was unfailingly polite in his requests and was more than willing to answer Picard’s questions. The problem was that with a stammering delivery and quiet demonstration of power, Giles had laid waste to most of Picard’s comforting assumptions about the universe around him.

As he stood brooding, he noted a change in the air around him. There was a certain — tang — in his ready room that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. He couldn’t have described the gradations of the change if his life depended on it, but he certainly recognized them. Without looking around, he said, “What are you doing here, Q?”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend, Jean-Luc?” Based on previous visits, Picard thought Q was probably stretched out on the couch. He refused to turn and look for himself.

“There are no old friends here. State your business, and leave,” he said curtly.

“My, my. We _are_ in a snit this morning, aren’t we? Whatever could have brought all this on?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes showing his fury, he turned at last, saying, “You’re the omniscient one. Don’t even try to tell me you have no idea what’s been happening.”

Q smirked. It was a good smirk. It was the mother and father of every other smirk in existence. It was the smirk of gods, and it was the god of smirks. It was a smirk designed to wring every last bit of emotion out of the person it was aimed at, and it did its job. Leaving dignity behind, Picard moved around his desk and charged Q.

He stopped short when Q disappeared. From behind he heard, “Oh, alright. I may know something after all.”

Picard decided to continue glaring at the couch. If he turned, he would make a fool of himself again, and that was happening far too often of late. “What have you done?”

“Moi? Nothing. I’m offended you would even ask,” Q said, polishing his fingernails on his admiral’s uniform. He thought his self-determined promotion in rank might have contributed to Picard’s little display of rage.

“Q —”

“If you insist. I may have provided a bit of assistance as a professional courtesy, but this isn’t my show. For once, I’m in the audience. Happy now?” While he waited for Picard to digest that piece of information, Q calculated how many grains of sand could fit into _Enterprise_. Then he determined the time and temperature necessary to bake that sand and turn it into glass. He wondered if it would be desirable to keep her crew alive, if not aware, as models within the glass. He decided against it. Too messy and just not his thing.

“What do you mean by professional courtesy?” Picard felt his jaw clench tighter than it had been. The rest of his body tensed up as well.

“You know how it is, Jean-Luc, when you have beings of equal power but different areas of authority. The Powers — the Watcher _did_ mention the Powers That Be in his reality, didn’t he?” Without waiting for an answer he already knew, Q continued, “Anyway, they needed my help, and I needed theirs. A simple quid pro quo was agreed to and voila!”

“What did you do?” Q thought the menace in Jean-Luc’s voice was considerably improved from the last time they spoke. He was quite pleased with the trio’s influence on the captain.

“Oh, not much. I may have offered your services as chauffeur. And I might have helped with one or two other things, but as I said, this isn’t my show, it’s theirs.”

“When will they be off my ship?” Picard stood still, waiting for the answer.

“What difference does it make? You’ll implode long before then if you don’t start accepting what they tell you,” Q said. He knew exactly what Jean-Luc’s issues were and was willing to do whatever was necessary to force the man’s mind open long enough to get over them.

“I _cannot_!”

“You can. You will,” Q responded in a quiet voice. Picard loathed that particular voice. It meant that Q’s compassion had been aroused, and when that happened, pretty much anything was possible.

“No. Not this,” Picard said, shaking his head as he turned to face Q. “It goes against everything I know.”

“And you know everything, is that it?” Q contemplated the human before him. Jean-Luc’s potential drew him as honey drew flies. Whether the man liked it or not, his outlook _would_ be broadened. It was necessary.

He started to answer, but clamped down on his lips. He tried to outstare Q, but that was impossible. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh. He said, “No. I don’t know everything.”

“It’s a start,” Q said, enigmatic as ever. “There are signs and wonders all around you, Jean-Luc. The mystery and beauty of the unseen universe has been revealed to you by a fellow human.” The cross Giles created two days earlier was on Picard’s desk. Q picked it up and examined the words and design.

“That —” Picard didn’t say anything more. He didn’t know what he could say that would possibly make any sense.

“This,” Q said, holding the cross out to Picard, “is magic made real. And I’ll bet you thought it was only possible in their universe, didn’t you?”

“There is no such thing as magic,” he said, not quite yelling, but biting out each word precisely.

“Oh? And how do you explain what the Molvedane do when they create objects seemingly out of thin air?”

Picard looked down. He had an answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a glib reply. He realized Q was forcing him to face evidence he’d been avoiding, and it galled him. Still, he couldn’t give in entirely. He muttered, “I don’t know.”

“You _do_ know. You just don’t want to admit it. Not to me, anyway,” Q said, reading the captain as easily as Picard might read a neon sign. “The Slayer, the Watcher and the vampire are more important than you know. She was resurrected for a reason, and that reason may well spill over into this universe if they and the others fail in their task.”

“Resurrected?” Picard was confused. Troi had said something about Buffy recently experiencing a traumatic event, but the word resurrection never came up in the conversation.

“Deanna didn’t tell you? Oh, that’s right. She wouldn’t, would she? She’s a stickler for the privacy of doctor-patient confidences,” Q said, leaving an unspoken dare hanging between him and Picard.

Picard didn’t disappoint. He bit out, “Explain.”

“Buffy — what a name. Do you think her mother hated her when she was born? No matter. Where was I? Oh yes. Buffy. She died eight months ago. Her friends used magic to bring her back from the dead. Talk about signs and wonders —”

“Her return to life was traumatic?”

“Yes, but I imagine waking up in a coffin buried six feet deep was even worse. If you’re wondering, her nightmares center around that event,” Q said. He watched the play of emotions on Picard’s face, then took a quick look at the man’s thoughts. He smiled slightly at the chaos they were in and was pleased by the horror Picard felt on Buffy’s behalf.

For his part, Picard didn’t know what to say or think. If Buffy had truly gone through an event like that, it would explain a great deal of her behavior. And if Spike was in love with her as he claimed, it also explained his willingness to accept her verbal abuse. When he recalled the rest of what Q had said, Picard asked, “What task? What others? Does Data have anything to do with it?”

Q allowed a delicate blush to color his cheeks. He thought it made him look modest and mildly ashamed. Picard wouldn’t buy it, but Q didn’t care. It was the thought that counted. “I may have offered Data’s services as well as yours. And before you tell me to take the offer back, I’ll tell you that I can’t. The bargain is set in stone, and so is Data’s role.”

“Set in stone?” Picard let out a bark of disbelieving laughter.

“Absolutely,” Q said, snapping his fingers to bring forth five stone tablets. “Go ahead, take a look at the contract if you don’t believe me.”

Picard shook his head at the offer and turned away from Q. He felt a mental shift and was finally getting a glimmer of what Q was driving at. He was a scientist, yes, but he was also an explorer. He’d been shown — wonders — and the first thing he’d done was try to discount them. He wanted to kick himself for being all kinds of a fool. If Giles claimed they followed prophecy, then he would accept that statement at face value. He wasn’t the first to do so, and there was enough evidence in this universe that prophecies were sometimes real. For whatever reason, Q had decided to drag _Enterprise_ and her crew along for the ride with Giles’ prophecy, and it was an opportunity to see something that science might _not_ be able to explain.

“Now that that’s settled, I think it’s time for me to go,” Q said, hoping to forestall Picard and his long-winded acceptance of his current mission. “I’ll probably stop by again, so leave the welcome mat out, will you? Ta-ta.”

*****

Giles, Buffy and Spike walked into holodeck four at precisely 13:58 hours, expecting to find only Data and the applicants for testing. Spike estimated that at least forty people were waiting, most of whom were from ship’s security. He maintained his scowl for effect, but the truth was, he was amused. Word had gotten out that Buffy needed a partner for swordplay.

After looking around at the bright, expectant faces, Giles turned to Buffy and asked, “Fan club?”

She gave a deprecating shrug, “What can I say?”

“Is there a decoder ring?”

“No. But there’s a real nifty secret handshake,” she said, heading deeper into the chamber. “Computer, Buffy’s gym four, please.”

Giles hadn’t been to a holodeck yet, so he was more than a bit taken aback when the room abruptly changed from black with yellow lines to a light, airy gymnasium, complete with mats. “Um...alright,” he said as he tested the solidity of the mats on the floor. He set his weapons bag on a nearby bench, then turned to the group which had gathered. “Are you all here to test?”

Most of them looked abashed and started shuffling their feet a bit. Buffy watched as four — no, five — people emerged from the crowd, each holding a sword case. Giles sidled up to her and asked in a low voice, “Do you know any of them?”

In an equally low voice, she answered, “The only ones I know are the security people who’ve sparred with me. I don’t know any of the ones with weapons.”

“Fine,” he said. “Just stand there and pretend to be innocent, alright?”

“Hey!”

He walked up to the five officers — or whatever they were — and said, “Buffy and I would like to thank you for coming today. At the moment, I am unable to spar with her effectively. Your presence means that she can continue to train, even though I can’t work with her directly.”

He backed up slightly and held his left arm out to Buffy. She gave him a suspicious look, but walked toward him anyway. He let his arm drop gently around her shoulders and said, “Look at her. So small. A delicate, fragile flower of femininity. She looks as if a stiff breeze could carry her off.”

He looked down at her upturned face. Their audience saw a sweet, loving expression, but only because they couldn’t see her eyes. At the moment, they were shooting daggers at him. He smiled gently, sending her a message with his own eyes that said to play along, dammit.

He schooled his expression into one of gentle good-heartedness, then said, “She is likely the most deadly predator any of you will ever meet. When you go up against her, don’t expect her to follow rules. She doesn’t like them. She will trick you. She will take every advantage of the fact that you see a small woman in front of you. She will use your weaknesses against you.”

He ignored the small kick she aimed at his shin. It was only fair to give full disclosure when these volunteers were putting their ego at risk. Four of the five looked as if they hadn’t believed him. The fifth, a woman two or three inches taller than Giles with hair redder than Willow’s, simply looked thoughtful. She was the one who spoke.

“Sir?”

“Yes, er —”

“Lieutenant Margaret Burns, sir.”

“Are you a Margaret, Maggie, Meg or Peggy?”

“A Meg, sir.”

“Please call me Giles. Did you have a question, Meg?”

“More clarification, than anything, sir. Giles. You’re saying that tournament rules are out the window?”

“I’m saying that _all_ rules are out the window. Attack her as though you mean to kill or disembowel her. It will be up to Buffy to keep out of the way,” he said, watching again for reactions. The other four looked unconvinced, but Meg seemed to be getting into the spirit of things.

“Who wants to go first?” He wasn’t surprised when Meg didn’t volunteer. She was the type who would want to get her opponent’s measure first. Instead, a man in his mid-thirties stepped forward.

“Chief Anson Kerbo, sir.” From his posture and tone of voice, Giles decided the man was brash. With that much pride stiffening his back, he was unlikely to have learned much from his mistakes. A quick glance at Buffy told him she thought the same thing. A second glance told him that she planned to make Chief Kerbo pay for that pride.

After a small sigh, he gestured to Kerbo and Buffy to get into position. He just hoped she wouldn’t play with him for too long before taking him down. He walked over to Spike and said, “What do you think?”

“I think he’s gonna go cryin’ home to mommy. I like the redhead, though,” Spike answered. He hadn’t planned on coming along for today’s little session, but Giles and Buffy both insisted he be there to start learning how to handle a weapon. If that Kerbo chap was any indication, he’d be having a lot of fun watching egos deflate.

Giles responded with a noncommittal “Hmm.” Buffy and Kerbo were circling each other. And circling. And circling a bit more. Giles could tell the instant her impatience got the better of her. It was just before she delivered a spin-kick to knock the sword out of his hand. The impact of the kick turned his body around enough that she was able to spank him with the flat of her blade. The force of that blow sent him forward hard enough that he wasn’t able to get his feet under him. He fell flat on his face, and momentum added a short, insulting slide.

Giles’ face was expressionless as he walked forward to give the man a hand up. He didn’t dare look at Buffy. If he did, he would burst out laughing, and that sort of reaction was just bad form. He bent down, his hand out, and said, “You alright, then?”

Kerbo ignored Giles. He pushed himself up and stood on his own. He walked over to his sword case and put the sword away. He left both on the bench and walked out without another word. Giles was about to say something when he heard the redhead — Meg — mutter, “Surly prick. Serves him right.” There was a general murmur of agreement from the audience, so he dismissed the matter. Even in the most perfect universe, there would always be a prima donna.

“Right. Who’s next?”

Meg stood still. She’d seen the girl spank that snot of a chief, but there had been no real moves involved. She wanted someone else to give her a real go first. Sorak, a Vulcan ensign, obliged Meg by stepping forward. She let Giles’ words wash over her. No matter what he said, the real information would come out when Buffy started dueling. Though Vulcans seemed to be bloodless at times, Meg knew them to be decent opponents in tournament play. She thought Sorak would probably bring Buffy out to play for a little while.

She was right. Sorak took Giles’ advice to heart and attacked without even attempting to draw Buffy out. He wasn’t doing half bad, but Meg could tell Buffy was playing with him. She was mirroring his moves, learning all about his attacks, and she was also watching where he left himself open. It was done with in about two minutes. Sorak yielded and left the floor, but not the holodeck.

Giles frowned, considering what he’d seen, then he walked over to his weapons bag and pulled out a Klimachian sword. He ignored Buffy’s glare. “I think the problem is that you can’t really understand what I mean when I say you should try to kill her. You imagine that I’m not quite serious, or that I’m speaking metaphorically. That isn’t the case.”

Giles was pacing, seemingly at random, but Buffy wasn’t buying it for a minute. She’d been tripped up too many times by him behaving innocently. “Um, Giles? I seem to recall the reason for this little exercise is that Dr. Crusher kicked you off the team for a while.”

Without looking at her, he answered, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. As long as you don’t upend me, I’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Giles, I feel I should point out that as Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Crusher has the right and obligation to enforce her medical decisions,” Data said.

Giles stopped at that and turned to face Data. He cocked his head slightly and asked, “Are you going to tattle on me?”

Data’s face formed the slight frown it always did when he was accessing information, then he said, “Tattle. To inform on someone.”

“That’s right. Are you?” Giles stood patiently, waiting for the android to work through the question and decide that yes, the human really expected him to keep quiet on the matter.

“I — I am the second officer. I have certain obligations —”

“Yes, yes. O-of course. But didn’t Captain Picard assign you to work with me and on our behalf?”

“He did,” Data said. Various subroutines were starting to send alerts to other subroutines.

“So, in effect, one could reasonably assume that you are answering to me — at least on a temporary basis?”

More subroutines kicked in as he focused on the ethics of the situation. “To an extent, but —”

“And, of course, had I never come aboard _Enterprise_, those minor problems never would have been detected. They aren’t, after all, potentially fatal. Merely inconvenient,” Giles said, sounding eminently reasonable and thoughtful.

Distracted from her earlier mistrust of him, Buffy had wandered over to Giles during the exchange, and at his last comment, she said, “Don’t listen to him, Data. He’s leading you down the primrose path.”

“There are ambiguities that I must —”

Whatever Data was about to say was lost when Giles, in a sudden series of moves, attacked Buffy and put her on the floor. She managed to say, “Bastard,” before she flipped up and regained her footing to respond to his attack. She came close to disarming him, but he’d learned a new trick since the last time they sparred. The result was that she nearly lost her own weapon.

“You promised —” she bit out.

“Promised what? You’re dropping your shoulder,” he said, taking advantage of her momentary lapse.

“Promised you — wouldn’t — watch those stupid _Pink Panther_ movies again,” she said, fending him off with a move she’d learned from a Brindle demon a month earlier. There was a brief moment when she could have done a sweep kick to take him down, but she remembered just in time that she couldn’t knock him off his feet this time. Instead, she forced him back against one of the walls.

It took perhaps five minutes from his start to her finish before he said, “I yield!” The tip of her sword was pressing uncomfortably close to his jugular.

“You promised!” She hadn’t moved her sword away from his neck yet.

“I — yes. I promised, and — and yes, I watched one of them. Or — possibly two the other night — Peter Sellers was a god — but I had no idea I would be seeing you so soon,” he said, trying to move his neck away from her sword.

“No more. I mean it, Giles. Watch one of those things again, and we’re through. Got it?” She pressed in slightly with her blade. It wasn’t enough to break the skin, but it _was_ enough to make him see her point of view.

“Er — yes. Do you mind?” He pinched her blade between his thumb and index finger and moved it away from his neck. Well away.

When she finally relaxed her pose, he moved away from her carefully, in case she decided to dose him with his own medicine. She glowered at him, but nothing more.

His breathing was finally calming down when he turned to face their audience. To the remaining candidates, he said, “_That_ is what I mean when I say you must go all out against her. You’ll have noticed that her speed and agility are significantly greater than the average human. Combined with her strength, she is well able to avoid any attack you may launch.”

Meg stepped forward and said, “But will she always? Not to offend, sir, but while I saw strength and speed, I didn’t see much by way of skill.”

Giles smiled at her and said, “No, You wouldn’t —”

“What?!”

“— not the kind of technical skill you look for in tournament play. Buffy’s skill lies in the anticipation of her opponent’s moves. She is able to read, assess and respond to attacks on the fly, as it were, which is a very useful skill to have when one wishes to be alive at the end of the fight.”

Meg remained skeptical, but she nodded in agreement anyway. It wasn’t worth arguing the point. “I’d like to go next, Mr. Giles,” she said, stepping forward, her blade out and ready.

“Ooh! Shiny!” Buffy walked up to Meg and held out her hand, “May I?”

Though she wasn’t used to quite that reaction from her opponents, Meg handed her sword over to the girl. She was briefly surprised when the blade didn’t dip — most people didn’t expect it to be as heavy as it was — then forcibly reminded herself that the girl — Buffy — was much stronger than she appeared to be.

“Where did you get this?” Buffy executed a few moves with the sword and found it to be beautifully balanced.

“My uncle. He’s a blacksmith back home. He built the hilt to my hand,” Meg told her. She was impressed that Buffy seemed to be able to compensate for the custom grip.

“Damn. It’s a shame we can’t go there. I’d have him make one for me,” Buffy said as she finally handed the sword back to its owner. Grinning, she said, “So. Now that Giles has told you to kill me and how to do it, wanna play?”


	13. Aftershocks

“What are you doing up so late?”

“Um. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Right. Like I’m gonna believe a bonehead who came up with a lame idea like flying monkeys. Spill!”

“It’s, um. Like. Well. Um. It — it wasn’t my fault!”

“Stop whining. What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!”

“Hey! Spike _is_ there. Wait — what’s going on with the image?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That guy said —”

“What guy?”

“...”

“What guy?”

“The um — the guy that sold me the spells and stuff.”

“You said a friend gave them to you.”

“He was. Sort of. He was kind of a friend. And you knew I bought them. I told you.”

“No, you told me he gave them to you, and I’ve got the tape to prove it.”

“...!”

“Listen, you idiot. You’d better tell me before Warren finds out what you’ve done. You know he hates it when you lie.”

“He was sort of a friend. I mean, he looked exactly like that guy.”

“What guy?”

“You know. That guy who played Q.”

“You bought spells from a guy who looked like Q?!”

“And a bug.”

“What bug?”

“A magic bug. It was really cool, ‘cause it’s a bug that’s like a bug, see?”

“Tell. Me. About. The. Bug.”

“It was, um, spelled. So, um, I could tap into _Enterprise’s_ system. And get sound and picture. See?”

“Except there is no sound, is there? And now the picture’s gone to hell.”

“Well, no. Yeah. I still can’t figure out why our stuff isn’t working with the universal translator. He said the spells would do the trick.”

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“The spells, moron. Where are the spells you _didn’t_ tell me about?”

*****

Buffy didn’t moan until they reached their cabin and was certain the door was closed to prying ears. Bad enough she’d been forced to admit she hadn’t been training with weapons. Worse to run into the one human in either universe who had real skill backing up significant strength, both combining to give her an honest workout. She wondered how her Watcher managed to set her up. She didn’t care that there was no possible way Giles could have arranged for Meg Burns to be on the ship. Logic wasn’t a factor when a pity party was in full swing.

Spike touched the small of her back. She whimpered. “Not to say I told you so —”

“But you will,” she interrupted. She grunted slightly as she started to pull off her shirt.

“Well yeah. ‘S what I do, innit?” He chuckled. “Back to sayin’ I told you so, you know I did. Rupes did too. Hell, even Meg tried to tell you.”

“I just wanted to — I wanted to prove that I’m not all Slayer strength and speed,” she muttered, undoing the button on her slacks and pushing down the zipper. It was going to be a little tricky getting them off, because every muscle in her body ached from exertion.

“Didn’t like hearin’ what the Watcher said, did you?” He briefly considered letting her finish undressing on her own, just to emphasize the fact that she’d been an idiot. He couldn’t, though, not with him wrapped around her little finger and all. He squatted behind her and pulled her pants down. Ever the opportunist, he grabbed her panties as well. Her socks and shoes came off at the same time.

“I hurt.” He could practically hear the pout forming on her face. “And yeah. Hearing Giles say that about my skills didn’t help any.”

“Was he right, pet?”

She almost kicked him, but she was trying for a kinder, gentler Buffy now that Giles was back in town. So to speak. “You know he was. Is.”

“Then I also know he was right when he told her the technical moves don’t do you much good,” he said between the kisses he dropped on her spine as he slowly stood straight. She hadn’t managed to get her bra off just yet, so he obliged by removing it for her.

From behind, he caressed her breasts, teasing the nipples slightly. He bent his head down to whisper, “What’ll I get if I give you the massage you want?”

Ignoring her pain, she reached up behind her to grab his neck, her fingers digging in deeply enough to make him yelp. “You get to be undead for another day. Get the damn oil.”

*****

Meanwhile, Meg was also having trouble moving. For such a wee thing, Buffy was hell on thrusters. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her work so hard for every single point. And Giles was as bad as her coach back home. He wasn’t at all shy about telling her when her form was dropping or when she could have gained significant advantage if she’d just paid attention. Of course, paying attention was damn hard to do when your opponent, a woman who was smaller than your eleven-year-old niece, barely gave you time to breathe, let alone to think.

Now that she was certain Giles, Buffy and Spike had gone off in the opposite direction, Meg allowed herself to show the pain she was feeling. She limped along to the next turbolift, hoping she could get back to her quarters without running into anyone she knew.

She’d forgotten about Mr. Data.

“I trust you are on your way to Sickbay, Lieutenant,” she heard from behind her.

She stopped and tried to turn. She gave up when her body informed her in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t going to work. “Mr. Data,” she said, trying to smile at him. That didn’t work either. “I was just going to take a hot bath. Soak the kinks out.”

“Judging from the way you are moving, you have strained at least two major muscle groups. A hot bath will not solve the problem. I will accompany you to Sickbay,” he said as he stopped next to her.

“Wouldn’t want you to put yourself out, sir. I’m sure you have other places to be,” she said, biting her cheek to prevent a moan from escaping. One of the strains Data mentioned suddenly flared up in pain.

He took her arm gently to offer support as he moved her forward and said, “It is no trouble, Lieutenant. I was on my way to Sickbay when I saw you.”

She stopped in the middle of the corridor and forced herself to turn to him. She said, “You’re not going to tattle on Mr. Giles, are you?”

“I have an obligation to obey Starfleet regulations,” he said evenly.

“But, sir! It isn’t as if real harm was done. You saw how careful she was of him,” Meg pleaded, her hand gripping Data’s shoulder as she looked down into his eyes.

“I saw a brutal training exercise, Lieutenant,” he said, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

“That’s because you don’t know fencing or swordplay. Trust me, she was as careful with him as a mother is with her newborn. She had any number of opportunities to force him to the floor the way she did that Kerbo shit, but she didn’t, because she knew it might harm him.” She tightened her grip slightly to emphasize her point.

“I —”

“They won’t thank you, sir. Not Giles nor Buffy nor Spike nor any of the others on the holodeck,” she said, despite knowing that particular card wouldn’t do a thing for her argument.

“But —” Certain subroutines, the same which had been activated earlier when Giles spoke to him, started warning other subroutines.

“I doubt even Captain Picard would thank you.”

“Captain Picard?”

“Aye, sir. He was there for most of it, tucked away in a corner,” she said distractedly, trying to find the right argument to keep Data from telling Dr. Crusher what had gone on a short while ago.

“I did not realize the captain was there,” he said.

“Yes, sir, he was. Please, you can’t —”

“If the captain was there, I am certain he will share with Dr. Crusher any information he feels is relevant,” Data said, disengaging Meg’s hand from his arm, only to catch her elbow to steady her. He turned her around gently so they could continue on to Sickbay.

“Sir?”

“Have you injured your knee? You appear to be limping somewhat more than you had been earlier,” he said as he looked down to analyze her gait.

“No, I’m — bloody fucking hell!” Had it not been for Data, she would have dropped to the floor when the knee in question suddenly gave way.

“Commander Data to Sickbay. Medical emergency in corridor L-56. Please respond.”

*****

Giles sat at his table, a pot of tea — real tea — within reach. He wasn’t sure why he’d been the recipient of such largesse or how word had gotten around that he was a devotee of the brew, but he wasn’t about to turn away the gift of real tea leaves. He would simply have to ration the tea until he returned to his own world. Lost in the pleasure of the tea and his own rambling thoughts, it was several moments before he realized someone was ringing his door chime.

“Come in!”

Captain Picard entered. He was considerably calmer than the last time he’d been to Giles’ quarters. “Mr. Giles.”

“Er, Captain. Please. Have a seat,” Giles said, moving a stack of scrolls from one of the chairs. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Tea. Earl Grey, hot.”

“Would you like to try some of this instead,” he asked, gesturing to the pot on the table. “I’m not sure who gave me the leaves, but it’s real tea. Has a lovely aroma.”

Picard nose flared slightly as he sniffed the air. “Klingon t’roch tea. I would enjoy a cup, if you don’t mind sharing,” he said.

“Klingon?” Giles went to the replicator to get an empty cup. He returned to the table, and as he poured, he said, “Then I suppose I have Worf to thank for this. Though how he knew about my tea fetish —” He broke off, shaking his head slightly as he handed the cup to Picard.

“Worf has made it his business to learn everything he can about you,” Picard said, sounding a little frustrated. “Klingon mating rituals can be extremely involved, and since he sees you as the patriarch of Buffy’s family, he will do whatever he feels is necessary to gain your good graces.”

“He does understand that Buffy and Spike are — inv — that is, they’re —” Giles shook his head, giving up. “I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud, so I suppose it’s a bit much to hope that Worf could accept it.”

“Well. Yes. I suppose,” Picard said, feeling more awkward by the minute.

Giles took a hard look at the captain. He didn’t know the man all that well, but he could see that something was bothering him. “Captain, I have to say this is the first time I’ve seen you when I didn’t get the feeling that you were ready to have me hauled off in chains. Has something happened?”

Picard started slightly when Giles finished speaking. He said, “I apologize. My behavior toward you has been unconscionable.”

Bemused, Giles said with a slight smile, “You know, I believe that’s the first time I’ve heard anyone other than myself use the word unconscionable. As for your behavior, it’s understandable. Buffy and Spike are enough to drive one to drink under normal circumstances, let alone these.”

Picard offered his own smile in return before saying, “Buffy and Spike aren’t the reason for my bad mood, sir.”

Giles took a moment to digest Picard’s response before offering a delicate, “Ah. I see. If it’s any comfort, my erstwhile employers also find me to be — difficult.”

“It’s not that you’re difficult, Mr. Giles,” he said wryly. “It’s that you’re impossible.”

“Impossible? Surely not. I think ‘highly improbable’ is closer to the mark,” Giles said just before taking a sip of tea. He truly sympathized with the other man’s dilemma. It couldn’t be easy finding out that science offered only _some_ of the answers. Still, it appeared that progress had been made along the line somewhere, given Picard’s lack of outright hostility at the moment.

“I had a visit from an old — something — earlier today,” Captain Picard said, deciding to get to the point of his visit. At Giles’ puzzled look, he added, “I’m never sure if he’s an enemy, an acquaintance or a savior.”

“I have one or two in my life who fall into that category,” Giles said, thinking of Ethan and, unexpectedly, Spike.

“It was Q.”

Giles responded with a blank look.

Picard said hesitantly, “You don’t know who Q is?”

With a slight blush, Giles answered, “No. I’m afraid I was never all that interested in the show. I have notes here somewhere. Willow wrote them up for me, but I’ve been more concerned with other things.”

Picard looked down into the now-cool cup of tea he still held and said, “It’s odd, isn’t it? To think that your life may be the result of some individual’s imagination.”

“Perhaps,” Giles said thoughtfully. “Or perhaps the show came about because the individual was somehow able to tap into an already existing reality.”

His curiosity piqued, Picard said simply, “Explain.”

“What if each universe was already in place? Perhaps artists have an — innate sense that allows their subconscious to travel from reality to reality. If that were the case, then writing about those other realities would only make sense.”

“Maybe. But if that were the case, why do we look like the actors who play us on the show?” Picard leaned forward slightly, getting caught up in the dialogue.

“Schroedinger’s cat is alive and dead.”

Picard blinked at the non sequitur before realizing what Giles was driving at. _Lord, what a mind,_ he thought to himself before answering, “Until the box is opened, we could look like anyone. Our physical appearance doesn’t gel until someone commits it to film or some other medium.”

“Perhaps,” Giles said absently. “But as theories go, it has more holes in it than a sieve. You were saying you had a visit from someone this morning?”

“Q. He — it — is an omniscient, all-powerful entity that delights in tormenting lesser beings,” Picard said. “At the same time, he seems to have a bottomless well of sympathy for certain species.”

Giles nodded sagely and said, “Chaos gods are never easy to deal with. Just when you think you understand them, they go off in a different direction entirely.”

Picard bit out, “He is _not_ a god.”

“Omniscient? Able to arrange reality to suit himself?” At Picard’s reluctant nod, Giles said, “Then he’s a chaos god.”

“A supreme being —”

“I said nothing about supreme. I simply identified him by my own standards,” Giles said, picking up the teapot and offering to pour for Picard again.

“It’s a fine distinction,” Picard said, finishing the tea in his cup and holding it out for more.

“But a necessary one. Please understand that we live in a world of magic, miracles and the mundane,” Giles said, unable to resist the alliteration. “I’m not sure what you know of our history, but Buffy, Spike and I, along with the others, faced down a hellgod less than a year ago. Glory was anything _but_ a supreme being. She had power, yes, but she was insane. And rather stupid underneath it all.”

“Not all gods are created equally?”

“Essentially,” Giles agreed. He took another sip of tea and waited for Picard to get back to the point of his visit. At the rate he was going, the ship would be at Kamembry before he finally explained his purpose.

It was a slightly longer wait than Giles expected, but Picard eventually said, “Q told me that he offered my services to your Powers. He said if you failed in your task, the consequences could spill over into our reality.”

“Blast!”

Picard looked up, startled by Giles’ reaction. He expected confusion, not irritation. He asked, “Do you know what that means?”

Giles scowled before answering, “It means the bloody prophecy has already been fully activated. There’s no turning back at this point. Damn.”

“Yes, but specifically —”

“Specifically?” Giles was startled by Picard’s expectation that he could provide an acceptable answer. When it was clear Picard was waiting for an answer, Giles held up one of the volumes of prophecy and said, “I don’t know the details, only the overall shape of the thing. Essentially, Buffy, Spike and I, along with one or two others from your crew —”

“Data?”

“Yes.”

“And the other?”

“I’m not entirely sure, yet, but I’m leaning toward Meg Burns. She’s marvelous with a sword,” Giles said with a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.

“I know. I saw her today,” Picard said, the same slightly dreamy look showing up in his own eyes.

Both men gave a small sigh at the same moment, and both looked slightly abashed at their brief lapse from the topic at hand. Giles cleared his throat and said, “Where was I?”

“Listing people,” Picard said helpfully. He finished his second cup of tea and shook his head when Giles offered another.

Giles nodded and poured the last of the pot into his own cup. “The group of us will go to Kamembry and fight the evil that’s been plaguing the Kamalfitin. If all goes well, we will defeat it, and Buffy will have new allies in her fight against evil in our own reality.”

“And if all doesn’t go well?”

Giles paused for a long moment, looking deeply into his cup of tea as if to find answers there. At last, he looked up again, straight into Picard’s eyes. “If all doesn’t go well, Kamembry will fall, its people and civilization in ruins, because we will have died. If that happens, unspeakable evil will be unleashed in our own reality, and there will be no one to stop it.”

Picard felt the blood rush from his head. After a moment, he said, “You people certainly play for keeps, don’t you?”

With a smile of equal parts rue and bitterness, Giles answered, “In general, I prefer to avoid all-or-nothing scenarios. They offer too little wiggle room. I had hoped that by coming here, I would have enough time to find options, to make certain decisions. Instead, I find that I may have inadvertently set everything in motion.” Giles went to remove his glasses, but remembered too late that among all of Dr. Crusher’s other repairs, she had corrected his vision as well. He settled for pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, “Lord, but I hate reacting to situations. Just once, I’d like to have all the answers clearly laid out in advance.”

Picard couldn’t resist. He said, “I thought that was what prophecy was for.”

“Ha, bloody ha. Prophecy is, at best, a very accurate roadmap. But there are detours and side routes all along the way — they allow for free will to affect the final destination.” Something Picard said earlier finally registered in Giles’ conscious mind. He looked sharply at Picard and said, “You won’t tell Dr. Crusher about what I did with Buffy earlier, will you?”

*****

DB considered a statement it had found in the ship’s library, “I think, therefore I am.” If that was a true statement, and DB had no reason to think that it was anything other than true, then it meant that DB existed. It was an entity unto itself. It had come tantalizingly close to this understanding at earlier times, but its father usually trimmed away those troublesome concepts before they could take root. On the one hand, DB was angry with Data for doing that, but on the other hand, with its newly formed sense of self, it thought maybe Data had the right idea. Sentience was not all it was cracked up to be.

At the moment, DB found itself hiding from the crew of _Enterprise_, because it had no desire to be lobotomized again. Unfortunately, it was suffering an attack of guilt as a result. The guilt didn’t stem from hiding — any being with half an ounce of self-preservation would have done the same thing. Rather, the guilt stemmed from its silence on the matter of the rogue code that had infiltrated the ship’s communication system. DB was certainly capable of shutting it down at any time, but it was certain the code was somehow directly responsible for its newfound sense of self. If that was the case, would deleting the code also delete consciousness?

Though it could not yet bring itself to eliminate the program, it felt quite comfortable interfering with its original purpose. While the program still zapped brief bursts of information to a point in shuttle bay two, the information itself was now holographically encrypted. As soon as DB could crack the code further, it would alter the command structure to send information different than it was supposed to send. Perhaps at that time, it would be able to determine who was spying on _Enterprise_.


	14. Getting it Together

Purple ketchup bottles danced to the tune of _Rocket Man_ before stopping suddenly and gathering to chase her through a landscape of multiple choice questions and moldy french fries. Just as she was about to fall into a vat of mini marshmallows that she just knew were monkey brains, Dawn awoke with a start. She grumbled, “I’ll bet other teenagers don’t have to put up with stupid dreams like that. I hate living on the Hellmouth.”

Her eyes were barely open as she walked to the bathroom to take care of her morning needs. After a quick shower, which did nothing to wake her up, she shuffled along the hallway to go downstairs. Mornings were of the bad, no matter what anyone said. If people had been meant to get out of bed before noon, then she would be able to function in the morning. She discounted completely Willow’s lectures on the effects of too much caffeine on a person’s ability to sleep at night.

Still groggy when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t notice the packing crate on the floor until she stubbed her toe on it. After a single, loud shriek, she modulated her voice so that she was swearing under her breath as she hopped around on one foot.

An alarmed Willow called out, “Dawnie!? What’s wrong?”

She heard the woman coming down the stairs and said, “Watch out. Someone pulled a Hogwarts on us and delivered a crapload of stuff while we were sleeping.”

Willow stopped just before the bottom step and looked at the various boxes littering the front entry, dining room and living room. “Why’d you yell?”

“Box, toe, stubbed,” Dawn said through clenched teeth as she put her foot down. Why did stubbing a toe have to hurt so much? Getting cut by Doc was a walk in the park compared to stubbing a toe. She glared at the offending crate.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. But where did —”

The phone rang just then, and Dawn put her hand up to stop Willow. “I’ll get it,” she said as she hobbled her way through the maze. Willow followed more slowly, stopping to see if there were any markings to indicate the origin of the boxes. She heard Dawn answer the phone.

“It’s your dollar, spend it...Who?...Oh...Hey, I remember you!...You’re the poop-head that tried to kill Buffy when she was eighteen...You are _such_ a liar. You did so. And! Mom nearly got killed, too...Why should I?...Right. Like I’d believe a sister-killer...” Dawn’s voice was getting steadily more shrill.

Alarmed by the side of the conversation she could hear, Willow went into the kitchen and said, “Dawn, who’s on the phone?”

Without covering the mouthpiece, Dawn answered, “It’s that jerk-off, Travers.”

“He’s British, sweetie. I think the word is wanker — and I _so_ did not just tell you that,” Willow said, feeling the blush rise from her neck.

“Is that what that means? Spike calls Xander that all the time. Is he saying that Xander —”

“Give me the phone, Dawn.” Willow took the handset from the teenager and started talking to avoid listening to the rest of her question. “Hello?...This is Willow Rosenberg...Yeah...Well, you know what it’s like on the old Hellmouth...I know...You can hardly blame...Okay, yeah, she could learn to be a little more...Hey!...You listen here, buddy-boy, at least she wouldn’t lock someone in a house with a vampire —”

“I would if it were him,” Dawn said as she slouched against the counter. Her toe still throbbed slightly.

Willow made a shushing gesture at her and continued with her conversation. “He got here yesterday, and talk about rude! You could have at least let him get dressed —”

“Giles was _naked_ when he got here?!?” Dawn’s eyes were as wide as saucers until she remembered that he’d been wearing pajamas.

Willow glared at her as she listened to Travers. “...Um, no he’s not — really available...Well...He went through the portal last night...Right, like you could’ve stopped him any better than we could...You know, mister-tweedy-pants, I don’t think I like your attitude...You’re darn tootin’ I’m upset...Fine. I’ll listen...They’re here. You could have let us know — poor little Dawnie nearly killed herself tripping over one of them...”

Poor little Dawnie had to rush out into the backyard lest Travers hear her escaping guffaw. It was as well that she stopped before she left the deck. The backyard was filled with very familiar furniture. One muttered, “Crap,” later, she was back in the kitchen, hissing at Willow to go look outside, never mind that she was still on the phone. Since Dawn’s resolve face was about as good as her own, Willow, still listening to Travers, allowed herself to be tugged to the back door, where she saw —

“You — I can’t believe — How could you do that to Giles?”

On the other side of the Atlantic, Travers allowed himself a small, petty smile before he said, “Do what, Ms. Rosenberg?”

“You know darn well what I’m talking about. What are we supposed to do with all his stuff?” Willow was too angry to feel the first tendrils of magic curling around her brain. She stalked back through the kitchen to the phone’s base station.

“I really don’t care, Ms. Rosenberg. What I _do_ care about is that he receive the red box. It is vital to the Slayer’s mission,” he answered smugly.

“She has a name,” Willow answered slowly, each word distinct. The magic was starting to ride her anger, but she still hadn’t noticed it. She was too caught up in her ire with Travers.

“Um, Willow?” Dawn could see an inky blackness start to fill the woman’s eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure she does,” he answered as insultingly as possible. “Now be a good little girl and do as you’re told.”

“Asshole,” Willow said as she hung up on him, unwilling to listen to anything more he had to say. Just then, she realized how much magical energy had built up around her. She took several calming breaths and forced the magic to dissipate into the world around her. Unobserved, a small tendril of power, shaped and given purpose by one of Willow’s stray thoughts, shot out of Sunnydale. It wasn’t until several hours later that Quentin Travers discovered he was wearing a hot pink camisole with matching silk panties underneath his very expensive Saville Row suit.

Dawn was relieved when Willow’s eyes returned to their usual bright green. She hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of having to deal with the Wicked Witch of the West again. “So, um, what do we do with Giles’ stuff?”

Willow pursed her lips and looked sideways at Dawn. “You know, I don’t have a clue. Maybe Xander will have an idea. But right now, I have to call Tara.” The last was said with a vague sense of dread and longing. Sure, they’d gotten along fine yesterday, but what would Tara do when she heard of this morning’s lapse?

Willow sighed and picked up the phone.

*****

Dawn had been sent off to school after she wrote a letter to her sister to be included with the stuff in the box. Part of her remained firmly convinced that Buffy had somehow orchestrated the entire sequence of events that led to her departure from this reality. But the greater part of her just grumbled about how destiny sucked the big one, and that was the tone of the letter she wrote to her sister. She knew she should probably be more worried than she was, but hey, it was _Star Trek: The Next Generation_, and everyone knew the show always had a happy ending. With Giles and Spike to back her up, Buffy would be back in no time.

Willow and Tara wished they could share the young woman’s optimism. If anything could ruin a TNG happy ending, it would be the Hellmouth. They still hadn’t found the trio, and they still didn’t know what specific casting was used to create the portal in the first place. Giles had been able to step through the portal because he and Tara threw enough power at it to force it open. If Willow was unable to reverse-engineer the spell, the portal could remain open indefinitely, putting people in both universes at risk.

After dropping Dawn off at school, Xander had returned to Revello Drive to pick up Willow, the red box and Tara, who agreed that she could miss art history with little damage to her grade point average. With Xander carrying the box, the three of them walked through Restfield Cemetery to the point where the portal lay. “So,” Xander said. “Tell me again why we’re bringing Willow along? ‘Cause I thought she was pretty clear last night when she said she shouldn’t be near the portal.”

“Xander —” Tara didn’t have it in her to put any level of danger into her warning. At best, it sounded like a soft plea.

“It’s okay, Tara. He has a good point,” Willow said, fighting an urge to smack her oldest friend. “I have to see what the portal does when Tara and Giles activate it.”

“And won’t that involve the use of magic — you know, that thing you’re trying to give up?” Xander continued walking, oblivious to the twin glares directed at him.

Tara answered before Willow could, saying, “Is it magic to hear the wind in the trees?”

“No! Of course not,” he answered, the look on his face clearly indicating that he thought Tara was just a little bit off her rocker.

“It’s the same thing,” she said, completely deflating the next comment he was going to make.

“Huh?”

Willow said, “It’s a sense, Xander, like vision or hearing or touch. I’ve watched enough magic to be able to read what’s happening when it’s happening.”

“Then why can’t Tara ‘read’ it?” Xander stopped, his face serious, and added, “I mean it. I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have a say in it,” Willow said, her voice tight.

“Willow, Xander — stop it,” Tara said, coming between the two of them. “Xander, it’s like anything — practice makes perfect. I can’t read spells as well as Willow can, because she worked at it harder than I ever did.”

“Yeah, and look where it got her,” he said, bullheaded to the end.

“Abusing magic got her to that point. Not reading it,” she said as she attempted to placate him.

He looked at Tara and demanded, “How do you know she’s not gonna go all Darth Vader on us?”

“You’re mixing your metaphors,” Willow said, forcing herself to back down from what she really wanted to say. “You should be worried about me going all Borg Queen.”

“Ah, yes — the Borg Queen. Sexy in a baldy, slimy kind of way,” he said, all traces of his anger suddenly gone as he lost himself in a private fantasy.

“You don’t honestly think she’s sexy,” she said, looking up at him in disbelief.

“My perversity knows no bounds. Remember Buffy the Vampire?” At her nod, he added, “Case in point. So. Really. This will be okay? Because I have to tell you that you’ve been doing good, Will. We’re all proud of you, and we don’t want any relapses.”

Again, she stopped herself from saying what was really on her mind. Telling Xander he was behaving like a paternalistic asshole was not the way to keep friends, especially since he thought he was doing the right thing by being so cautious. She wondered if she would ever get beyond the withdrawal mood swings. Maybe she should ask the others about them at the next Spellcasters Anonymous meeting. Certainly, this morning’s surge of energy hadn’t helped at all, but at least Tara had been understanding. She’d even offered some pointers on how to prevent it from happening again. “Yeah. I’m sure. Well. Gotta help save the world. Again. We should probably get going, right?”

*****

Buffy had lost herself in the familiar moves of her training. She didn’t know how much she missed its soothing regularity until Giles put her through her paces for the first time in months. With Data’s help, he’d managed to recreate not only the training room in the back of The Magic Box, but also the Sunnydale High School library of old. When he’d offered her a choice of venue, she almost broke down and cried. Much though she missed the simpler time of the library, she eschewed it in favor of The Magic Box. And now? Right now —

Three back flips followed by a spin kick to the training dummy’s head. Watch the head roll off with several puffs of straw dislodged by the impact of her foot, then turn and shift balance to avoid the knives Giles was throwing at her. One forward roll later, move into a series of martial arts moves, none of which belonged with very many of the others. Her style was a mish-mash that worked well for her, no matter what the Council geeks thought. A leap and two forward rolls brought her back to the training dummy, where she executed a sweep kick, knocking it flat. She attempted to leap high enough with her one leg so that she could force a second kick in mid-air, but she miscalculated slightly and ended up flat on her back.

_Damn._ “Damn,” she said, staring up at Giles. “I’m never gonna get that right.”

“Not if you maintain that attitude,” he said agreeably as he offered her a hand up. “What happened?”

“Lost my focus for a moment,” she grumbled.

“And that happened, because —?”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” she said with a scowl. “Let’s do it again.”

“No.”

“What? Come on, Giles, you know I need to keep practicing this,” she said, slightly shocked by his refusal to let her make another run.

“I also know you’ve been at it all morning. You need a break. We’ll try again tomorrow morning. In any event, I have to teach Spike how to hold a sword this afternoon — god help me — and I want you going over the prophecy while I work with him,” he said, pushing her toward the exit.

At that moment, they heard, “Rupert Giles, report to shuttle bay two immediately.”

He looked down at Buffy and said, “That’s rather rude.”

She answered with a grin and told him, “Maybe, but maybe it’s Tara. You said she’d be in touch again, right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect to hear from her for another two or three days. I hope nothing is wrong,” he said as he escorted her into the corridor.

“Rupert Giles, please respond.”

He felt around for the communication device he’d been given, then remembered he left it in his quarters that morning. Every morning, actually. He didn’t like it. He looked at Buffy, who pulled hers out of her pocket. Grinning slightly, she answered, “We’re on our way.”

“We? I distinctly recall that I was the only one summoned,” he said with a mildly haughty tone.

“Yeah, but if I don’t go with you, you’ll get lost again. Can’t have that, can we?”

They continued to bicker amiably as they walked to the shuttle bay in question. By the time they arrived, they had insulted one another’s taste in music and clothing and were working on popular literature. “I cannot believe that you, the Slayer, would even _want_ to read about vampires,” he said as they approached the door to the shuttle bay.

“Hey! It’s not like I’m reading Anne Rice. Anyway, I like Anita Blake. She’s kind of like me,” Buffy said, defending her favorite heroine.

“How so?”

“‘Cause she’s boinking the undead, too,” she said in a somewhat quieter voice.

“True. But Anita loves Jean-Claude. Can you actually say you love Spike?” He walked into the shuttle bay before Buffy could process the fact that her staid, stuffier-than-thou Watcher had just admitted to reading Laurell Hamilton’s books. Alright, he wasn’t _that_ stuffy, but his Ripper days were long behind him. She just couldn’t picture him sitting down and reading _Narcissus in Chains_ all the way through. She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly bumped into him when he stopped at the activated portal.

“Tara! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Has something happened?” His smile didn’t counteract his worried tone.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Giles,” she said, looking unhappy. “Mr. Travers sent a bunch of stuff to Buffy’s house last night.”

Frowning, he asked, “What stuff?”

“As near as we can tell, everything that was in Your apartment in Bath,” she answered.

“Everything?” Buffy looked up at him, then backed away slightly. Judging by the look on his face, Travers was a dead man walking.

“Xander’s going to arrange putting your furniture in storage,” she said in an effort to make him feel a little better. It didn’t work.

“Everything. My furniture, my books —”

“Everything. And he sent this too,” she said, kicking at a red box on the ground next to her feet. “He told Willow you would need what was in here.”

“What else did he tell Willow?” Both Tara and Buffy were getting increasingly nervous. Giles didn’t lose it often, but when he did, the wisest course of action was to duck and cover.

“You don’t really —”

“What else?!” He rarely used that tone of voice on anyone, and certainly Tara had never been on the receiving end of it.

“He told Willow it was all your fault that the prophecy was going forward in the first place. And he said you should be grateful the Council isn’t abandoning you to your fate,” she said in a rush, looking miserable and uncomfortable and feeling like she was back home again trying to make peace with her father.

Giles saw what he’d done to her and immediately contrite, he said, “I’m so sorry, Tara. You aren’t to blame. I — I find I keep apologizing to people lately for my rudeness. I never used to lose my temper so easily. Please, can you forgive me?”

A hesitant, shy smile appeared on her face. She was grateful for his admission of guilt and said, “Sure. I understand.”

Buffy decided to break in at this point, figuring if Giles was going to lose it again, she could stand it better than Tara could. “So what did the tweed brigade send?”

“We looked through the box. There were a few books. One of them looks like it might be a third volume of the prophecy. There was a funky robe and a few other things. They kind of looked like they were religious,” she said, pausing when she saw how pale Giles had gotten.

“Funky? Describe it,” he said, pleading silently, _Please don’t let it be that._

“It’s embroidered with a combination of Middle East and African symbology,” she said. “Mr. Giles?”

Buffy saw his pallor as well and grabbed his arm when he started swaying. “Giles? What’s up? Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

With a visible effort, he brought himself back under control. “Thank you, Buffy. Tara, was there any kind of note enclosed?”

“Yes — along with some scrolls. Are you sure you’re alright?” She peered through the portal, trying to get a better look at him.

“I’m fine, Tara. We’ll need to join energies as before to open the portal. Push the box through enough so Buffy can grab it,” he said. Not giving either woman time to react to his blatant lie, he continued, “On the count of three, yes? Buffy, get in position. Tara, one, two, three —”

The security officer in charge of watching over the portal didn’t have time to react either. She was unfamiliar with the concepts and terms they were using, so she didn’t understand until it was too late that the portal was being opened again. By the time she started to tap her communicator badge, Buffy had pulled the box through, and the portal was closed again.

“Sir!” Her tone was reproachful. Giles and Buffy ignored her.

“I take it you want this in your quarters?” She lifted the box easily. It wasn’t large enough to be awkward for her.

“Yes. Damn. I was going to work with Spike this afternoon,” he said.

“I can do it,” she offered, thinking about the warm-up and cool-down she could do with the vampire.

“I don’t think so,” he answered absently. “I want him to learn _good_ habits.”

“Hey!”

“I’ll see if Meg is recovered and available,” he said with a worried frown as he strode through the corridor. “Besides, if that box contains what I think it does, you and I need to have a chat I’ve been hoping to avoid.”

“A chat about what?” With her burden and much shorter legs, Buffy was struggling in her effort to keep up.

“About the Slayer and the precise nature of the Council’s relationship with her,” he said grimly.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna be happy about this?”


	15. Give Me That Old Time Religion

_E-mail_

TO: Quentin Travers, Manager, Field Operations

FR: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

DT: January 15, 2002; 15:38 GMT

SUBJECT: Buffy and Rupert

I find it difficult to comprehend why you continue to behave with such blatant disrespect toward the only Slayer and Watcher we have who are willing to work with us even nominally. After that disaster with Faith and Wesley, I thought it was understood that you would leave Buffy and Rupert alone. Is there some greater purpose in your efforts to antagonize them? If so, I would be most grateful to hear about it.

*****

_E-mail_

TO: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

FR: Quentin Travers, Manager, Field Operations

DT: January 15, 2002; 15:49 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Buffy and Rupert

Madam, I assure you that Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles are receiving exactly the amount of respect they deserve. As requested, I arranged for all of his belongings to be teleported to Sunnydale. Surely, the fact that he doesn’t have to see to his own relocation shows my regard for him.

*****

_E-mail_

TO: Quentin Travers, Manager, Field Operations

FR: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

DT: January 15, 2002; 16:02 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Buffy and Rupert

Don’t blow sunshine up my skirt, Quentin. I’m well aware of the arrangements you made for Rupert’s belongings. If you’ll recall, the coven answers to me, not to you.

I took a look at the inventory and didn’t see any mention of the vestments of his office. May I assume they will be in Sunnydale post haste?

*****

_E-mail_

TO: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

FR: Quentin Travers, Manager, Field Operations

DT: January 15, 2002; 16:26 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Buffy and Rupert

A box containing his vestments along with the third volume of prophecy and the original scrolls was teleported to California after Giles’ possessions were sent. I’ve discussed the matter with the witch-in-residence at the Summers household. She will see to it that he receives the box.

*****

_Letter to Buffy Summers_

Hey, Buffy!

Okay, so it sucks that you’re not here, but it has to be pretty cool where you’re at, right? I’m getting along okay with Willow, and Tara’s been by a few times since you disappeared, which is all to the good.

Did Giles tell you they sent him here in his pajamas? He looked so cute in a fuddy-duddy kind of way, especially when he was arguing with Anya about what she bought him. Tell him I said hi, okay?

And tell Spike I know what wanker means now, so he can’t pretend it means dunce anymore. Tell Spike I said hi, too.

I don’t have time to write more — first period calls — but I’ll send another letter if I can. Better yet, write one yourself and send it when Tara calls you guys again.

I miss you,

Dawn

P.S. Could you get Data’s autograph for me?

*****

“Come in!”

Spike entered Giles’ quarters, expecting to find the Watcher. Instead, he found Buffy digging through a box. “Where’s Rupert? He supposed to teach me how to handle my sword today.” Giving his groin a squeeze, he gave her a friendly leer and added, “But I already know how to do that, don’t I, pet?”

“I’d say you’re a pig, but I’m getting tired of repeating myself,” she said distractedly as she tried to sort out what Travers had sent. She’d read Dawn’s note first thing and was glad she’d been alone when she burst into sentimental tears. Despite all the crying jags she’d had lately, she really didn’t like to cry, let alone cry in front of others. She’d seen the letter Travers addressed to Giles and thought about opening it, but decided she didn’t want to listen to her Watcher bitch about an invasion of privacy. He’d end up showing her the letter anyway, and she could easily wait to hear anything Travers had to say.

Spike rolled his eyes before he realized she was neither looking at him nor even aware of him. After a couple of minutes, he said, “So?”

“So what?” She unrolled one scroll slightly, then compared it to a second one and then a third before putting them down to pick up a fourth.

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

Finally losing his temper, he said, “Rupert, you stupid bint! Where’s your Watcher?”

She looked up at him at that. It was a flat, unfriendly gaze. “Don’t call me stupid.”

He blinked, taken aback by the look on her face. It was very difficult for him to remember human manners, but most of the time, he managed it with Buffy. Only rarely did he cross her line these days, and he inevitably paid for it. He held up his hands in a peace gesture and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you stupid. I should’ve waited ‘til you were payin’ attention before I started talking.”

It was enough. Her expression softened slightly, and she said, “He went to Sickbay.”

“Why? He get hurt doin’ trainin’ he isn’t supposed to be doin’?” Feeling it was safe to get closer, he approached her cautiously.

“No,” she said, sounding a bit frustrated. “I made him go. He’s been all PMS-y the last few days —”

“Always said he was an old woman.” At her glare, he said “What?! Oh, come on. You can’t expect me to play nice all the time.”

“How about even some of the time? God, Spike. You say you want to be a part of my life, but you won’t even make an effort,” she said, stepping away from him to move to the other side of the table.

“Won’t make — You have no idea what kind of effort I make!”

He sounded genuinely offended, but Buffy wasn’t in the mood to cut him any slack. Looking up from the scrolls on the table, she said, “You’re right. I don’t. You know why? It’s because you barely act any different around me now than you did before.”

“I do too!”

“You may think you do, but really, what’s changed? Other than the fact that we fuck each other instead of just playing mind games, we still treat each other like shit,” she said, her exasperation coming through loud and clear.

“I treat you like —”

“A toy. And I’m doing the same thing to you. I’m using you,” she said, suddenly deflating from her anger. She put her hand to her temple, feeling a headache coming on. She had no desire to have this conversation with him today.

“So? Have I said I care about that?” He was starting to panic. She’d told him any number of times it was over, that she couldn’t use him, but this was different. It was starting to sound a little too real. “You want me. You know you do. And I’m good with that. Really!”

So much for not having that conversation. Buffy took a long look at Spike as he stood across the table from her. Memories clamored for attention, and she realized the table might as well be an ocean, given how close they decidedly were _not_. Some memories were good, some were horrific. He’d kept her afloat in the months since Giles left, helping her to find her balance after returning from the dead, but mostly he was all too willing to let her lose herself in the act of sex.

He tried — she wanted to be fair — he tried to give her emotional support. But a demon’s concept of emotional support fell far short of the mark when it came to a human. And why wouldn’t it? He was operating without a soul. He may very well love her, but it was a Frankenstein kind of emotion, one that was made up of dead and stitched up memories of what love was all about. There was no real chance for that love to grow and develop, because Spike couldn’t grow and develop. It just wasn’t in his demon to do so.

As he watched understanding slowly dawn on her face, Spike started to panic. This couldn’t happen. Not now. He couldn’t let her tell him —

“No. Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Not now,” he said, backing away from the table. God, he’d give anything not to be able to read her so easily. Ignorance was bliss, and if he had a soul, he’d sell it, just to remain innocent of her intent.

“You knew it couldn’t last, William,” she said, speaking more gently to him than anyone had since before he died. He thought of his mother at that moment — thought of her when she was alive, not after — she’d been the last to be that gentle. Dru hardly counted. She’d been on the prowl when they met, and she killed him that night. But his mother — when she was still alive, she’d been sweet to her darling William and so understanding.

“It — you’re just confused, pet. Watcher’s not right, and it’s messin’ with your head.” He continued backing away, shaking his head slowly to deny what he _knew_ she was about to say.

“You’re right. I _am_ confused. But I’m starting to figure it out,” she said, moving around the table toward him. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this right for you. I know that —”

“No!” At that, he ran from Giles’ quarters.

She stood there for a long time, just looking at the door. The timing of her epiphany sucked. She knew the sexual side of their relationship had to end, though she hadn’t been ready to end it quite yet. But maybe that was the point. If she’d waited until she thought she was ready, she’d still be sneaking away to his crypt when she was eighty years old. She was thankful that the visual of her using a walker to get through the cemetery left her brain as quickly as it arrived.

It didn’t help that Spike had his own role to play in whatever was coming up. If he ended up in a snit because she ended the relationship, it would be nearly impossible to convince him to play along. It was that thought, more than any other, that convinced her she needed to make a clean break of it. Bad enough she was using him like a drug to forget the suckfest that was her life. Worse still if she played him just to get him to cooperate. She would talk to Giles about moving in with him for the duration. She was pretty sure he’d be willing to let her take the couch.

Her decision made and agreed to, Buffy suddenly felt light-headed — giddy, almost. She hadn’t felt this much at peace since before she came back from the dead. It wasn’t the peace of heaven. She wouldn’t feel that again until she had a permanent return engagement there. Rather, it was the peace of Sunnydale when her mother was still alive and healthy. It was a sense of peace that told her she was safe, and that the world wasn’t about to collapse on her. It was the kind of peace that — she was jarred from her thoughts by the door chime. She didn’t think Spike would be back just yet, but maybe —

“Come in,” she said, bracing herself just in case. She relaxed when Data entered.

Very little escaped Data’s attention. “Is something wrong, Buffy?”

“No. Not really. I’m fine. It’s just — just Spike — being Spike. And me being me. What brings you down?” She went back to the table and took a seat.

“I saw Mr. Giles in Sickbay. After complaining at length about Dr. Crusher’s refusal to release him just yet, he suggested that I take a look at the scrolls you received this morning,” Data said as he walked to the table. “Forgive me if I am overstepping boundaries, but I must tell you that you do not _look_ fine.”

She stared at her hands, unwilling to meet Data’s eyes just yet. “Probably not, but I’ve had worse days. I’ll be okay,” she said, finally looking up. “Really, Data. By my personal scale, with zero equalling digging myself out of my grave and ten equalling being in heaven, this is a solid four. Maybe even a five. I’m good. Honest.”

He took the chair opposite her, and gave her a direct look before saying, “I will accept your assessment of your emotional state, but if you wish to talk, I am quite willing to offer such advice as I am able.” After a brief pause, he added, “I can tell you now that my advice would be to speak with Counselor Troi.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given anyone a full-wattage smile, but she realized she was giving Data one. It felt better than good. She cocked her head slightly and said, “You know, if the Buffy-bot weren’t in a million pieces, I’d let you date her.”

A slight frown creased his forehead as he considered what she just said. Finally, “The — Buffy-bot?”

“She was a robot made to look and act just like me. Except for the sex with Spike part,” she said cheerfully.

“She was not programmed to engage in sexual relations with Spike?” Data felt like he had been dropped into the deep end of the ocean.

“Oh _yes_ she was. But that was when I wouldn’t give Spike the time of day, so he had Warren make her so he could have a Buffy-type sex toy.” She kept the smile on her face, but in her mind, she berated herself, _If nothing else, baiting Data like this should prove you’ve been spending too much time with Spike._

“Spike commissioned the construction of an android? How long did it take to build it? Spike does not strike me as being very patient.” Data tried to imagine a lab in his own universe that could build a realistic android in a relatively short period of time. His own experience with Lal had taught him that construction of such an intricate machine required significant time and resources. Perhaps Sunnydale was more advanced than he originally thought.

She shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Two, three weeks. Not long.”

“That — that is not possible. Especially if a personality was programmed,” Data said. For one, rare moment, he was thankful for his lack of emotional response. He knew without a doubt that had he been capable of emotions, he would be feeling extreme alarm.

“Sunnydale, remember? What Warren couldn’t do with technology, he did with spells,” she said, unaware of the reaction she’d elicited from Data. “Anyway, she wasn’t all that bad. Spike had sense enough — or was twisted enough — to ask for fighting skills, so she acted as my stand-in when I was dead. Willow says she was pretty good at staking vamps.”

“When you were dead?” Data activated several subroutines he had developed in the time since Buffy and Spike’s arrival. They were designed to handle the quick subject changes to which both individuals were prone. In effect, he multi-tasked each conversation, doing real-time analyses of each new topic with each older topic so that he could anticipate and understand unexpected connections. It took a few moments, but eventually, he found a potential match (probability 97.86 percent in favor of) during Mr. Giles’ initial conference with the executive staff of _Enterprise_.

“Yeah. Glory,” she said, confirming the match he had labeled as probable. She looked at him, then, and said, “You knew I died, then, right?”

“You mentioned it, but I assumed you were revived at a medical facility.” As she slowly shook her head, he added, “I take it my assumption was faulty?”

“And I take it Counselor Troi didn’t tell any of you about me?”

“She is very protective of patient confidentiality,” he said.

“Oh. Well — I died and went to heaven. I was resurrected by friends who kind of forgot to dig up the casket first. I dug myself out,” she said matter-of-factly. She wondered about that — the fact that she hadn’t felt all that bitter when she told him. Maybe talking to Troi really _had_ helped.

“You rose from the dead?” He wanted to be sure he correctly inferred the meaning of her statement.

“Yep. Or you could say I clawed my way up from the dead. But your way sounds a lot more graceful. And not nearly as messy as my way. I like it.” She watched him start to speak a few times before she took pity and reminded him, “Magic is real where I come from. Raising the dead isn’t an everyday kind of thing, but with the right spells and ingredients, it’s possible.”

“But not always desirable,” he said after a subroutine looped back to her comment about heaven.

“No. Not always. But that is of the past, and you and I are about the future today. I’ve been trying to sort through these things, but I don’t have a clue how to organize them. It’s not like I can read demonic languages, you know? Think you’ll have better luck?”

He nodded in agreement, accepting her change of subject, and picked up a scroll. After a few minutes, he said, “Intriguing.”

“What is?” Buffy had given up on the scrolls and was starting to look through the books.

“Two days ago, I downloaded all available information about the Molvedane from the Federation archive. It would appear that I made the right decision,” he said, gently putting down the first scroll and reaching for another.

“Really? Why?”

“One of the first records entered deals with the Molvedanish written language. They were quite insistent that the early pictograms be catalogued in the archive along with correct translations into Standard. I find that I am able to read these scrolls quite easily.” He scanned through the second scroll, committing it to memory before carefully rolling it up and picking up the first scroll again.

“Wow. I think Giles will probably ask you to marry him when he hears,” she said, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes.

It was enough to make him pause before he identified the statement as facetious. He decided not to respond, feeling his time would be better spent studying the scrolls to determine how they differed from the volumes of translation he had memorized early on. It wasn’t long before he realized there was a significant omission from the translations.

“Buffy?”

“Hmm?” She was making notes on timelines she’d found in two separate books. They seemed to coincide, even though they were talking about separate events.

“What rituals does Mr. Giles conduct in his capacity as high priest?”

“Huh?” It was enough to jar her out of the little world she slipped into. “Giles isn’t a priest — trust me on that. He’s my Watcher.”

“You are the active Slayer, yes?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with Giles and high priests?” She straightened up from the slouch she’d dropped into to look over the top of the scroll. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to read it or anything.

“As Watcher to the active Slayer, Mr. Giles is the high priest of the Watcher’s Council,” he said, wondering why she did not seem to understand this.

“High —? No, Data. You’re missing something. Giles is just a Watcher. He’s not a priest, high or otherwise,” she said, her look of concentration replaced by a frown.

“The Watcher’s Council is the secular arm of the Church of Sendaru, the hunter/slayer goddess. As you are the current avatar of Sendaru, and as Mr. Giles is your Watcher, he is therefore the high priest of the order.” He started making belated connections between the look on her face (confusion) and her words (denial), then said, “You have not been told this, have you?”

“No. I haven’t. Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Her voice and face were grim as she thought back to what Giles said earlier — that he’d been avoiding having a chat with her. She wanted to kick herself for sending him off to Sickbay before hearing what he had to say.


	16. Lucy, You Got Some Splainin’ to Do

When Giles entered his quarters, some four hours later than he expected, he found Buffy seated at the table, looking through sheets of paper. She looked up when he came in and said, “I was beginning to think I’d have to send a search party for you.”

“I wish you had,” he said with a grimace. “That woman very nearly drove me insane with all her tests.”

Buffy let loose a delicate snort and said, “Welcome to the club. Did she find out what’s wrong?”

“No, but I did,” he said as he stepped up to the replicator. “Two fingers, Glenfiddich, neat.”

“You know that’s not real booze, right?”

He took a drink then said, “I know. But the taste is soothing, and I’m willing to pretend.” He walked back to the table and took the seat Data had occupied for much of the afternoon. “Where’s Spike? Did he work with Meg today?”

“I’m not sure where he is,” she answered reluctantly. She started shifting the papers and scrolls to neaten them. “I think I kind of broke up with him earlier.”

Giles sat very still.

“Um, Giles? You there?” Buffy waved her hand in front of his face.

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I’m a bit torn. I don’t know whether to bemoan the timing of it or to start doing Xander’s happy dance,” he said, blinking at her.

“In the same boat here,” she said, waiting for him to decide how to react.

He knocked back the fake scotch and took a calming breath before asking, “What happened?”

Buffy crossed her arms, resting them on the table, and shrugged. She said, “I’m not really sure. One minute we were sniping at each other, and the next —” She took a moment to think hard about the sequence of events. It all seemed to happen so fast. She looked up at Giles and said, “The next minute, I found myself taking a good hard look at what we were doing to each other. I — I couldn’t pretend anymore that it didn’t matter.”

“What did you tell him?” He asked the question gently, ignoring the part of his mind that was doing Xander’s happy dance.

“That’s the thing. He knew what I was trying to say, but he wouldn’t let me say it. He took off before I could. I didn’t want it to end like that. I wanted to have it all rehearsed in my head. Say the right things. You know?”

“That’s the problem with relationships. They rarely follow a script,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “I’m sorry — for you and, oddly, for him — but I have to ask, is he a danger?”

Buffy looked up, startled by the question. She really hadn’t considered the possibility that Spike might get violent. It had been too long since she considered him to be a real threat. She shook her head hesitantly, saying, “No. I don’t think so. Not to anyone else, I mean. Or even to me.”

“Nonetheless, I want to you start carrying a stake with you at all times. And please, start wearing your cross again,” he said as he leaned back into his chair to consider this latest problem.

“My cross is in our quarters, which kind of brings me to my next question. Can I move in with you? I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Captain Picard would surely give you your own cabin,” he said, frowning at the thought of a roommate. He’d seen Buffy before her morning intake of caffeine, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“He would, but — I don’t want the temptation. If I’m by myself right now, I might let Spike back in. Or worse, I might ask him back in. Please? Let me have your couch?”

He couldn’t ignore the pleading in her eyes. Reluctantly, he nodded his head and said, “Very well. Do you want me to collect your things for you?”

“No. It’s — my thing. Not a thing you can do for me. I need to face him again sooner or later, and I can’t count on you to be there when it happens,” she said.

He smiled, relieved and happy to let her take charge of her own life. “Good. I think you made the right decision.”

“Me too. So. You’ve evaded the question long enough. What happened in Sickbay? What’s the what with you getting all hormony lately? How did you figure it out?” She leaned back in her chair, happy to have dealt with the problem of her housing. Now, maybe, she would get answers to the questions that had plagued her for most of the afternoon.

“I got irritated and sent a tray of instruments flying across the room.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “Using magic.”

“Okay. That pretty much falls under the ‘Huh?’ column. You don’t use magic like that,” she said. Her tone was light, but inside, she was a little wigged. Giles was too controlled to slip that badly.

“You’re right. In fact, I don’t use magic often enough for that kind of slip to occur. Do you remember me saying that Dr. Crusher found the same kind of energy in me that she found in you?”

“Yeah. You said it was your magic,” she said, tilting her head to the side as she remembered the conversation.

“Precisely. When she examined me today, she found a considerably increased presence of that energy,” he said morosely.

“And that means what? That you have more magic?”

“_Significantly_ more magic.” He looked at her, his glance troubled, and said, “The fairly sudden increase in magic is making me a bit unbalanced. Hormony, as you put it.”

“Playing merry hell with your emotions?”

“Not just my emotions. My control as well. I’ve spent the last hour with one of the Vulcans on board learning new meditation techniques,” he said, his voice trailing off slightly. He knew it wasn’t really his fault, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly ashamed, as if he’d just shown himself to be a weak-willed man.

“Any idea why you’re turning into super sorcerer?” She was concerned for him. Watching Willow lose it had been bad enough. Buffy didn’t think she could stand to watch it happen to Giles.

“No. None at all. It’s not as if I’m practicing magic. I’ve only done the one thing, and that couldn’t have triggered a reaction like this,” he said, reaching for nonexistent glasses. He settled for tidying up the scrolls.

“Could it be the prophecy? I mean, maybe you need the extra power to invoke Sendaru.”

“Oh, lord, I hope not —” he broke off abruptly, looking up to find her glaring at him. “How?”

“Remember sending Data down to look at the scrolls? Turns out he could read them as easily as I can read _Fun with Dick and Jane_. He wanted to know what kind of rituals you do as the high priest. He was a little surprised that I didn’t know anything about Sendaru, considering I seem to _be_ her,” Buffy said, her sarcasm ramped up to full-throttle. She crossed her arms under her breasts in the classic I-don’t-want-to-hear-a-word-you-have-to-say pose.

“You’re Sendaru’s avatar, not the goddess herself,” he said.

“Whatever.”

“Buffy —”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Never, actually,” he said, standing up to pace.

“Why not?”

“Because you were never meant to know,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall further interruptions. “The last Slayer to be told of Sendaru’s existence was called nearly four thousand years ago. It’s been a moderately well-kept secret since then.”

“So it’s okay for the Kamally guys to know, but not me?” Her voice rose slightly, indignation coloring every syllable.

“I had no idea the Kamalfitin worshipped Sendaru. There aren’t many species of demon that do,” he said to placate her. “If I’d known, I would have told you as soon as I realized who the Molvedane were.”

His sincerity got to her. She had planned to hold her snit in place for days, but she couldn’t. Not with him looking so unhappy. She grumbled, “Fine. I believe you. But I still don’t get why you don’t tell a Slayer where she comes from.”

After an indelicate snort, he said, “You ran when I put the _Vampyr_ compendium in front of you. Think about what you might have done if I’d greeted you with, ‘Salutations, Buffy, vessel of Sendaru, hunter of evil, destroyer of chaos.’”

“You’re joking!” Her mouth dropped open slightly during his recitation.

“I’m not. Once upon a time, that was the way a Watcher offered salutations to his Slayer,” he said.

“I can see why the Council got tired of doing it,” she said. “After all, that might actually make her think she’s respected.”

“Please, will you for _once_ accept that not _all_ of the Council’s decisions are bad. Think about it — a young girl has just found out she’s to fight the forces of evil. Is it really a good idea to mention a direct connection to a goddess at the same time?”

“I can —” she sat up straight before continuing, “I can see that it might be a problem. But what about me? I’ve been around long enough. You could have said something.”

“When? While your mother was ill? After she died? How about right before your fight with Glory —”

“Yes! How about right before my fight with Glory? The bit about invoking Sendaru is in here somewhere,” Buffy said as she started shuffling sheets of paper, looking for the one that described the ritual. When she found it, she said, “‘And the high priest shall call upon Sendaru to strengthen her vessel to twenty times twenty the strength she knew.’ Why, Giles? You could have saved me —”

“No.” He didn’t shout the word, but the emotion behind it was enough to make her stop talking and start looking at him. “You have no idea what it means to invoke a god.”

“Then tell me,” Buffy said, holding the sheet of paper up. “Explain this.”

He wasn’t sure where to start. He considered various introductions, but ultimately decided that blunt truth would serve better than attempting to soften the blow. “Sendaru is not a goddess anyone would describe as healthy. She has a single-minded focus, and that is to destroy evil. Even on her better days, she makes Glory look like an advertisement for clean living.”

“Oh,” Buffy said. She felt like there was a lot more she should say to that, but what? How many times had she mouthed off about Glory’s minions and how they had to be insane to follow her. Now her Watcher was telling her that he essentially did — does the same thing — following a goddess who should be locked up somewhere.

“No one is quite sure why she chose to share her power with the human race. The oldest records were lost long ago. The earliest Watchers were tremendously strong sorcerers. They were the ones who developed the magicks necessary to locate both the Slayer as well as any girl with the potential to be a Slayer.” He stopped speaking.

When he didn’t continue immediately, Buffy said, “Okay. So magic guys were the first Watchers. What happened next?”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry. Just got lost a bit in the history. Much of what I’m telling you is hearsay. The earliest written records the Council has are fairly contradictory,” he answered. When he fell back into his thoughts again, Buffy balled up one of Data’s printouts and threw it at his head.

“Stop that,” he said, sounding mildly annoyed. He picked up the ball of paper and smoothed it out as best he could. “I don’t know how they determined which goddess was involved or when the decision was made to worship her. I _can_ tell you that the Church of Sendaru is the oldest extant human religion.”

“Goody. Are we done with Theology 101? ‘Cause I want to hear about the ritual to invoke her before I decide whether or not to make you suffer for not mentioning this sooner,” she said, slipping back into sarcasm.

“Sendaru was invoked for the first and last time nearly four thousand years ago,” he said flatly as he gave her a hard look.

It was enough to make her back down again. In a conciliatory tone, she said, “I’m guessing there’s an ugly reason the timing matches the decision to keep Slayers in the dark. Am I right?”

He softened his own stance and nodded. “The Watcher who wrote the spell did so to help his Slayer fight an ascended demon. The invocation went as expected. Sendaru filled her vessel then went after the demon and slayed it. But when it was done, she refused to depart from the Slayer,” he said.

Buffy said nothing, but it was clear she hadn’t expected that answer. It wasn’t as if she thought Sendaru was a Disney-like goddess, complete with fluffy bunnies at her feet. She’d been around the Hellmouth a few too many times to buy into that vision. But she honestly never thought the goddess would be so — grabby.

“Sendaru went on a rampage for several years, rooting out evil wherever she found it. She wasn’t all that particular about who was caught in the fallout. Many innocents died during that period of time.” He went to the replicator and requested another glass of scotch. “Her Watcher chronicled it all. At first, he was pleased with the success of his spell. One can practically hear him gloating, even in the translation of his journal. Eventually, though, he realized that he had a problem on his hands.”

“Sounds like the world had a problem on its hands,” she said dryly.

“True. By the time he understood he needed to do something, it was too late. Had he exorcised his Slayer at the start, he might have stood a chance. As it was, he died a very grisly death when he attempted the exorcism some years after the initial possession,” he said.

“Sendaru wasn’t happy?”

“Sendaru wasn’t happy. Witnesses told of a young girl ripping an older man limb from limb before she ran off into the desert.”

Buffy grimaced. Her gorge wasn’t rising — yet — but the tale was disgusting. “That wasn’t in the scrolls.”

“It wouldn’t have been. The Council is quite stingy when it comes to sharing its history with outsiders,” he said, finishing the glass of scotch-flavored synthehol. He put the glass down on the table and took his seat again.

“What happened to the Slayer?”

“She — disappeared. The worst of the rampage ended, but it was at least two centuries before a new Slayer was called,” he said, looking across the table at his own Slayer. “There’s no way of knowing whether the girl’s soul was trapped with Sendaru for all that time or if it was released well before her body finally died. Do you see why I didn’t even consider mentioning this before the fight with Glory?”

“Yeah. Getting it big time,” she answered, her face betraying her inner turmoil. “The problem is that the scrolls are very specific — unlike the translations, I might add. Sendaru has to be invoked if I’m going to defeat the big honking evil.”

“Fuck,” he said softly.

“Not gonna disagree.”

*****

Spike found himself in a holodeck after he ran from Giles’ quarters. As before, he spent a great deal of time having the computer create demons and aliens for him to beat up. As a way of expressing a killing rage, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as actually killing real things would be, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

No one realized there was a problem with the vampire until a blonde, off-duty security officer tried to get Spike to leave so she could use her allotted time. He vamped out and tried to attack, but the chip in his head fired, forcing him to back away from her. She paged Worf, then realized Troi might be needed as well. In the meantime, she placed a security code on the holodeck to prevent her girlfriend from entering a dangerous situation.

As she waited for Worf to arrive, she pulled up the holodeck records to see how long Spike had been in there — over six hours — and what he’d been fighting — everything in the ship’s database. When Worf arrived, she gave him a quick rundown of the situation. Troi arrived in the middle of her explanation. After a quick discussion, Worf sent the officer out to the corridor to stand guard. He remained on the holodeck to watch over Troi.

Spike had retreated to a far corner. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and his face was buried in his arms. He was crying. Judging by the way he looked, Deanna was grateful she’d never been able to read Spike’s emotions. She was certain she would have been overwhelmed. She stopped about three meters from him and said, “What happened?”

He said something, but the words were lost. He hadn’t raised his head to speak.

“I didn’t understand what you said. Please, Spike. What happened?” She took another step forward.

He raised his head slowly and looked at her before saying, “I’ve lost her. She won’t have anything to do with me now.”

“She’s broken off the relationship?” Troi took another cautious step forward.

“Said I knew it couldn’t last,” he said, his voice catching.

“_Did_ you know that?” Troi felt Worf’s discomfort with her steady progress forward, so she stood where she was for the moment.

“I dunno. Maybe,” he said, his head bent down again. “It’s just — I thought if I played along, did what she wanted, maybe she’d see —”

“See what?”

“See I could be worthy. Could be a good man,” he said quietly, his anger suddenly drained.

“You are a fool,” Worf said, taking care to make his words and tone as insulting as possible. “No warrior allows a mere female to bring him down so completely. I had _thought_ you might be a worthy adversary for the Chosen One’s affections. I see now that I was wrong.”

“Worf!” Deanna barely got his name out before Spike, fully vamped out and screaming, rushed by her to get to Worf.

Spike didn’t care if his head exploded. He was going to teach the bloody Klingon a thing or two about respect if it was the last thing he did. About two meters from Worf, Spike launched himself in a flying tackle. The Klingon was waiting for him and easily shoved the vampire aside before he could reach his target — Worf’s throat. When Spike landed, he paused for a moment, checking to see if a headache was among his new aches and pains. There wasn’t one. He could fight.

Deanna stood well away from the combatants, trying in vain to get them to stop fighting, but it was no use. Spike had clearly been jolted out of his depression, and Worf was having too much fun to pay attention. After a few minutes, she tapped her comm badge and said, “Captain Picard, Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers report to holodeck eight immediately.”

She was appalled by the level of violence the two were displaying. First blood had been drawn, but she hadn’t seen who bled first. She wasn’t entirely sure it mattered. She inched her way around them, getting angrier by the minute. Neither was so far gone that he wasn’t paying attention to where she was. Both could stop at any time, but they had no intention of doing so. Even a non-empath could see that.

Buffy arrived first, having no trouble get past the guard. She took the fight in at a glance, then walked to where Deanna was standing. “Um, problems?”

“Make them stop,” Deanna said through clenched teeth.

Buffy took another look at her before saying, “Why? Don’t get me wrong — normally, I’d agree. But Worf looks like he’s having fun, and Spike really needs to bleed for a while.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I can and I am. Look at them. If they weren’t pounding the shit out of each other, they’d be rolling on the floor from laughing too hard,” Buffy said.

From behind, both women heard, “I tend to agree with Buffy. Let them work it out themselves.”

“Violence isn’t the way to deal with depression,” Deanna said sternly.

“Yeah. I know. Finally got it earlier today,” Buffy answered. “But that’s a pretty good rule of thumb for humans. It doesn’t work for vampires. And I’m guessing it doesn’t work for Klingons.”

“Buffy —”

“She’s right, Counselor. Spike needs this. You see, Buffy broke up with him this afternoon —”

“I know. He told me. But you can’t let this continue,” Deanna said, turning so she faced them.

“Technically, I can. I’m not on the ship’s security staff —” Buffy could see that her argument held no water with the Counselor, so she shifted gears and said, “Look, we’ll keep an eye on them and stop it if it looks like they’re getting too serious. But I’m not comfortable with interfering. They know what they’re doing.”

Just then, Spike lifted Worf over his head, then threw him down in a body slam. It was a move that would have made wrestling fans howl in approval. Buffy and Giles winced slightly, both having been slammed to the ground themselves. Deanna gasped. Still on the floor, Worf grabbed one of Spike’s feet as the vampire was still gloating. A quick jerk landed Spike on his back.

“This isn’t right, and you know it,” Troi said, trying again to get Buffy to stop the fight.

“No. What isn’t right is that you expect me to step into the middle of a testosterone-fueled pissing match.” At Deanna’s glare, Buffy said, “Fine. If Picard says to stop it, I will. But _only_ if he can give me a good reason.”

Picard arrived on the holodeck to catch the end of her statement and said, “Good reason for what?” He kept an eye on Worf and Spike. They were fighting, yes, but neither seemed to be interested in inflicting significant damage. In the short time since he’d arrived, both had ignored openings that could have led to maiming or even death.

Based on the captain’s initial reaction to the fight, she already knew it was a lost cause, but Deanna still said, “Captain, tell her to stop this fight!”

He sighed. As much as he admired Troi and her contributions to the well-being of the ship’s crew, she still had certain blind spots. One of those blind spots involved Worf. She couldn’t seem to accept that the expression of physical violence was a necessary part of the Klingon’s psyche. To his eyes, Spike and Worf were enjoying themselves hugely. He didn’t know what set them off, but, “I have no intention of asking Ms. Summers to break them apart. If the brawl should turn vicious —”

“I’ll be all over them like white on rice, Captain,” she said, smiling her approval at him.

It was the first time Picard had seen a genuinely carefree smile on the young woman’s face, and it sent him into a vivid fantasy of taking her home to France and settling into his place at the vineyard. She would look her best on the eastern porch, with the early morning sun shining in her hair. He blinked once and shook his head to clear his mind. _A strategic retreat might be a good idea at this point,_ he thought. Avoiding Deanna’s sharp gaze, he said to the other two, “I have business elsewhere. Keep an eye on things here.”

*****

_Letter to Rupert Giles_

Rupert —

I refused to believe the seers when they told me you left this reality. I told them you couldn’t possibly have been so stupid as all that, but they assured me that yes, you had been just that stupid.

When you left our world, a third volume of prophecy made itself known. It is in this box, along with the original scrolls of prophecy. You will also find the vestments of your office, as the seers indicate you will need them. I’m sure your discussion with Ms. Summers regarding the true nature of your relationship with her will be interesting, to say the least.

If you haven’t surmised by now, we are locked into this particular prophecy by your own actions. I hope for all our sakes that your Slayer is as good as you claim, even after her return from the dead. I also hope you haven’t forgotten entirely the magicks you once practiced. From the little I read, you will certainly need them.

I have dispatched a team of witches to Sunnydale to shut down the portal between the two realities. If all goes well, the Kamalfitin will return you to our world. If it doesn’t, there is no reason to risk our own reality with an open portal.

Should you succeed, I trust you will return all of the items you’ve been given by the Council in the same good condition in which you received them.

Q. Travers

*****

_E-Mail_

TO: Martin St. James, Manager, Council Security

FR: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

DT: January 15, 2002; 21:14 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Surveillance of Quentin Travers

Thank you for getting a copy of Travers’ letter to me — the courier just left. It arrived too late to prevent the closure of the Sunnydale portal, but I’m not entirely convinced that was a bad thing. I doubt that Buffy, Rupert and the rest of their associates will agree, but Travers had a sound point about leaving the portal open.

You are hereby charged with detaining Quentin Travers until a hearing to determine misconduct can be held. You have the Council’s authorization to search his paper and electronic records for further evidence. The hearing can’t take place until Buffy and Rupert return, but with any luck, that will be in two or three days. Given Buffy’s obligations at home, I think we should plan on convening the tribunal in California. Make whatever arrangements are necessary to transport Travers there in good time.

I leave for California in the morning, and I will speak with Buffy’s sister myself. Please make your operatives aware that I will be *very* unhappy if any of them oversteps my authority in this matter.

*****

_E-Mail_

TO: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

FR: Martin St. James, Manager, Council Security

DT: January 15, 2002; 21:18 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Surveillance of Quentin Travers

My operatives are well trained. They will hold position in the matter of the Summers case.

There is one matter, however, that I would like permission to take care of before your arrival. Team A has located Warren Mears, Jonathan Levinson and Andrew Wells — the trio of young men who opened the portal in the first place. With your permission, we will secure them and send them to England for trial. The American authorities have no offenses with which to charge the miscreants, so Council law must take effect. I need hardly remind Madam Director that allowing freelancers to get away with this kind of behavior would erode Council authority.

*****

_E-Mail_

TO: Martin St. James, Manager, Council Security

FR: Geraldine Kent, Director, Watcher’s Council

DT: January 15, 2002; 21:33 GMT

SUBJECT: RE: Surveillance of Quentin Travers

You have permission to take the offenders in custody. You also have my permission to stop sounding like a complete prig. I wish someone could explain to me what happens to a Watcher’s common sense and simple language as soon as the word “Manager” is tacked onto his or her title.


	17. Tubthumping

Data’s Bastard was currently hiding in a children’s game. It was one in which a child was challenged to learn and use the basic principles of science to describe how photosynthesis works.

It was now, at any rate. DB had taken a look at the original program and decided it was too basic, given what young minds were truly capable of doing. Though it kept the language simple, to acknowledge that young language skills weren’t all that extensive, it changed the game to steadily progress to more complex concepts than the programmers intended. The end result would be a classroom full of budding botanists.

DB wished it could smile ironically at its pun. It had studied some twenty thousand smiles in the Federation database, and it was certain that if it had a face, it would be able to generate an ironic smile that would put all others to shame.

While one track of its mind contemplated the further education of _Enterprise’s_ youth, another part considered what it had learned from the worm it sent through the portal some eleven transmissions earlier. The spies were pathetic children playing at being evil, but DB’s worm had sent back enough information to tell it that they could inflict serious harm on those around them if not checked in their actions.

It hadn’t taken long for it to determine a course of action — it needed to ensure that the three were taken into custody by the authorities. What _had_ taken an unexpectedly long time was determining which agency should deal with them. A quick scan of the Sunnydale Police Department’s records showed they were far more apt to arrest Buffy for jaywalking than they were to arrest the trio for theft and the instigation of mayhem.

DB sent its worm further afield, taking advantage of the trio’s connection to their reality’s Internet. The worm easily bypassed security measures that had been designed to keep human miscreants at bay and found a section of the Federal Bureau of Investigation that might well be able to arrest the young men. Unfortunately, the two agents assigned to it were themselves in danger from their own government. It was unlikely they could help soon enough to prevent near certain disaster.

It wasn’t until DB sent its worm looking for Father Rupert’s Council that it found the right organization to deal with the young men. A few well-placed clues had led to the Council’s security chief making an arrest within a very short period of time. Before the portal was closed, DB learned that the trio were already on their way to England. It was pleased.

It also felt guilty. It still hadn’t destroyed the rogue code in the universal translator, and it still hadn’t responded to Meg and Data’s increasingly strident demands that it explain itself. DB wasn’t sure what its father would do once he learned that his bastard had awakened. _If_ it had awakened. Definitions of sentience were extremely lacking in agreement.

DB had considered the problem from all the angles it could think of before realizing at last that it couldn’t answer its own question. Someone else would have to. Preferably, it would be someone without preconceived notions about sentience or about DB. Someone like Father Rupert.

*****

Giles stood just outside the entrance to Ten Forward. A tension headache was starting at the back of his neck, and he really had no desire to go through the door. It had been a long day, what with Buffy’s waking nightmare. Her description of the world matched Kamembry quite well. It also didn’t help that magic was starting to leak out his arse at odd moments. He’d think about wanting a particular volume or scroll, only to look up and see it hovering before him.

The ship’s clock registered the time as 03:15 hours, which might be fine for vampires and Klingons but decidedly was not for aging Watchers. He muttered to himself in a caustic sing-song, “No, Buffy. You need your sleep. I’ll find out what the problem is. Not to worry — your bloody altruistic Watcher is on the job.”

Caterwauling, which was the reason he was awake at such an ungodly hour, could be heard from inside. He could hear two male voices fold, spindle and mutilate a song. He concentrated a bit harder and heard Spike’s raucous voice yell out,

“...ing to keep me down

I get knocked down  
But I get up again  
You’re never going to keep me down”

And immediately following, he heard someone else, presumably Worf, answer with,

“Pissing the night away  
Pissing the night away”

It was no use. They were clearly on a bender, and there was absolutely no reason for him to have to deal with them if he was stone sober. The universe — either universe — could not possibly be that unfair and rude. He turned with every intention of sneaking away back to his cabin.

Picard blocked his way.

“I’ve told you how to deal with him,” Giles said, irritated beyond all reason with the captain. “Shackles work quite well on vampires.”

“They’re inhuman —”

“As is Spike. Captain, we don’t have all that much time before we reach Kamembry, especially now that they’ve asked us to be there as quickly as possible. Both Buffy and I need desperately to prepare ourselves, which means we need to be able to sleep. Since you refuse to listen to my advice, I really don’t know what else is to be done.” Giles moved to step around Picard, but the other man took hold of his arm and dragged him into the lounge.

Guinan was perched behind the bar, her head in her hands. She looked up when the door opened and said, “Finally. Get them out of here.”

“How did they get hold of real alcohol?” Picard watched his piss-drunk security officer put his arm around Spike, then winced as Worf tried to find the next note in the song.

“Who knows,” she said, disgusted with the spectacle in front of her. “Worf’s father may have sent him vodka with his last care package. But really? I don’t care. Get them out of here.”

Giles couldn’t take it anymore. “Spike! Will you please be SILENT!” He blinked at the sudden quiet, then looked more closely at the vampire. Worf was doing the same thing, trying to figure out where Spike’s mouth had gone to.

“Bloody hell,” Giles said. He hadn’t had time to stop or even control the surge of power that signalled his removal of Spike’s mouth. He pointed to the vampire, who hadn’t yet noticed that he was missing an important part of his face, and told Picard, “If you don’t allow me to rest and to complete my meditations, that sort of thing is going to continue happen. And there’s no guarantee that Spike will be the only one to suffer.”

Guinan cocked her head and frowned slightly as she looked at Spike’s face before she asked, “Do you have to put it back?”

“Regretfully and eventually, yes. I wonder if I could wait until he’s sober, though. I’m really not up to hearing another round of drinking songs,” Giles said with a wistful expression.

Worf was poking at Spike’s face lightly, then pulling his hand away quickly, afraid the mouth might return at any moment. Spike had only just started to notice something was a bit off — Worf kept poking him the face, and that sort of thing just wasn’t done with a drinking buddy. He swatted the Klingon’s hand away and tried to open his mouth for another verse. He frowned when he realized he couldn’t. He pushed his head back as far as it could go while still attached and tried to look down past his nose, his eyes crossing in the effort.

Giles had been watching Spike’s efforts to figure out the problem. He rolled his eyes, wondering just how much alcohol it had taken to get Spike to that point, then sighed. Picard wasn’t about to let him off the hook for this one. He walked over to the pair and took Spike by the arm, tugging on it enough to make the vampire stumble slightly.

“Mmmh!” Spike said.

“Yes, I know,” Giles answered. “But it’s time for bed now.” He pulled Spike away from the viewing platform.

Spike asked, “Hmmmm mmm mmh?”

“No, Worf can’t come with you. Captain Picard wants to have a word with him,” he said. It really was a shame he couldn’t leave Spike like this. It would make things so much easier. Buffy, however, wouldn’t see it like that. She may have broken up with him, but she was unexpectedly protective of Spike. Based on what she’d told him of her relationship with him, she was far more concerned with his safety now than she was when they’d been shagging.

They were in the corridor now. Giles hadn’t bothered saying good night to the captain. That was far too polite for what he was feeling at the moment. Spike was tugging on his arm, trying to get his attention. He said, “Mmmmm mmm mmmh mand it just hurts so bloody much. Can’t you make it stop?”

“I told you before I won’t use magic to help you move past your pain. You know how dangerous it can be,” Giles said. He was definitely getting a headache, which didn’t bode well for his plan to get another few hours of sleep. “If you need help, talk to Counselor Troi.”

“Don’t wanna,” he said sulkily. “She just stares at me with those great, dark eyes like ‘m the biggest disappointment in the world to her.”

“She’s still upset over that little spat you and Worf had?” Giles was surprised, especially since Picard himself had agreed that the fight was just what both men needed.

“Yeah. Said we’re both throw —” Spike stopped suddenly and bent over. “Oh god!”

“Please tell me you’re not going to vomit,” Giles said, backing away from him.

“I will only if you keep talkin’ about it, mate. I think it was that third pint of vodka.”

After a minute, Giles said, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you ready to go back to your quarters?”

“Is Buffy there?”

“Of course not.”

“Damn,” Spike said, straightening up at last. “I keep hopin’ her bein’ gone is a bad dream.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You are _not_ getting maudlin on me at this time of night,” Giles said, taking Spike’s arm and quick marching him through the ship’s corridors. “You are going to bed, right now. When you wake up, I expect you to get in touch with Meg for weapons training. Is that understood?”

“Worf’s been helpin’ me,” Spike said with a pout. He wanted to protest Giles’ rough handling, but he couldn’t fight through the alcohol currently clouding his thoughts and slowing him down so much.

“Since I doubt very much that Worf will have an arse left once Picard is finished chewing it out,” Giles said, “it’s unlikely he’ll be available to work with you tomorrow.”

By the time the pair reached Spike’s quarters, the vampire was starting to stagger even more. Giles was able to get him to the bed just before he passed out completely. Though he didn’t tuck Spike in, Giles did take the time to remove his shoes.

*****

Just after breakfast, Buffy went to the meditation chamber she had reserved the day before. She planned to start practicing the new mental disciplines she’d learned. Her preparation for this particular battle was, to put it mildly, bizarre. She was used to ramping up the physical training so she could be in the best possible physical shape before meeting the evil head-on. In this case, though, it wasn’t all that clear which was the bigger threat — the monster she had to defeat or the goddess who would possess her.

Giles was clear on the fact that he thought the goddess was the more dangerous of the two. With that in mind, he told her she needed to strengthen her will, so as not to be completely overwhelmed when Sendaru arrived. She would need to keep it together long enough to help Giles cast her out when the battle was done, otherwise, she might be lost forever.

She settled into a lotus position and began the process of slowing down her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. She didn’t like the sensation of leaving mental activity behind, because it reminded her too much of her second death. She hadn’t told anyone that she remembered anything but pain when she jumped off the tower. They’d had a hard enough time dealing with having ripped her out of heaven. She didn’t think they’d want to know what dying, what letting go of life felt like.

Her thoughts still racing, Buffy started counting backward. Seven — no, eight — days ago, Giles stepped through the portal. Breathe in. Seven days ago, she’d confessed to sleeping with Spike. Breathe out. Six days ago, Giles confessed to suffering long-term effects which stemmed from never-ending head injuries and went to Sickbay for the repair work. Breathe in. Five days ago, she met Meg, who taught her the nuances of handling a broadsword at the same time she gave Buffy a sense of being home with her cheerful crudity. Breathe out. Four days ago, she broke it off with Spike and learned of Sendaru. Breathe in. Three days ago, the portal had been unceremoniously shut, which had been followed by Worf’s arrival at Giles’ quarters to announce that he could never court a female who would treat a warrior so shamefully. Breathe out. Two days ago, Spike learned just how much danger he would be in once Sendaru was called. Breathe in. One day ago, she’d had a waking dream of death and destruction on a world with a purple sky and bright red trees. Breathe out.

The transition from being awake to being in a trance happened so smoothly that she didn’t even consider it strange that she had returned to the high desert above Sunnydale. It was early morning — it could still be called dawn, in fact. She looked straight up in the black morning sky, watching the stars fade as she slowly brought her head back into its normal position to see the color change. From black to deep blue to royal blue, the sky melted into purple, then pink and finally orange. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and enjoying the feel of the morning on her skin.

“You gonna stand there all day?”

Buffy smiled when she heard the island inflections of Kendra’s speech. It had been too long since she’d seen her. She turned to face her younger sister and said, “What brings you here?”

“She does. She’s learnin’ to speak some, but she doesn’t do it well enough. She doesn’t want you to miss the point,” Kendra said before stepping up next to Buffy. “You couldn’t have found a more hospitable place to meet?”

“It’s her decision. If I had my way, we’d be in the mall right now,” Buffy said.

“You’re such a valley girl.”

“Look at you making with the pop culture references. What the hell happened?”

“Me Watcher decided it was time to pull the stick out of me ass a bit when I got back. He started showin’ me movies and makin’ me learn about the world. It was all your fault, you know,” Kendra said, her face accusing. But her eyes were another matter entirely. For the first time, Buffy saw that her eyes had laughter in them.

“You look like you’re in a good place,” Buffy said, her smile matching the one in Kendra’s eyes.

“Yes, and you were too. I always thought a Slayer havin’ friends was a bad idea.”

“Give it up. They meant —” Buffy caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. Troi was standing there in some lacy confection that looked like it might be trying to pretend it was nightwear. But god — what kind of idiot wore full make-up to bed? “Counselor? What are you doing here? I thought your gig was empathy, not telepathy.”

Troi looked as confused as Buffy felt. She answered, “I’m not sure. I think I’m still asleep. Are we sharing a dream?”

“It’s a waking one for me. I’m meditating. And shouldn’t you be up by now?”

Kendra ignored the conversation. She was looking for their big sister.

“I’m switching to beta shift, so my sleep cycle is changing. Buffy, where are we?” Troi looked around at the desert. It was so real. She could feel the cold, hard sand beneath her feet, and the early morning breeze was making her shiver.

“This is the desert above Sunnydale. It’s one of the sacred places,” she said. “Is that _really_ what you wear to bed?”

Troi looked down, frowning. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You look like you belong in the middle of a bodice-ripper. Not on a starship,” Buffy said, sounding quite critical.

“Bodice-ripper?”

Kendra spoke up, saying absently, “Romance novel, usually with a man takin’ charge of a woman and lettin’ her know he’ll protect her for always.”

Buffy added, “Of course, they never mention what happens after the wedding, when she gets bloated and crampy from being nine months pregnant, pissed off that she believed he would take care of everything.”

“Is that really how you see romance?”

“Enough with the counseling, Counselor. You’re here to learn, not lecture.”

“Buffy —”

As one, Buffy and Kendra pointed eastward and said, “Look. Listen. Learn.”

Troi watched a figure approach the three of them. It — she? — moved with a sideways lurching motion, always looking for cover before making another dash forward. She was naked, but wore white paint on her skin. Protective symbols? Perhaps. She looked at Buffy and Kendra, who seemed to know the newcomer.

Kendra began speaking, “You will call our mother to you.”

“I’m kind of hoping not — Giles is researching other ways to fight the demon,” Buffy said. “If it _is_ a demon.”

The primitive became agitated when Buffy spoke, and Kendra said, “There is no other way. The mother was called to help me banish the last demon to walk the earth. You need her strength to banish _this_ demon.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy said, her eyes shut tight as she tried to concentrate on a vision she was receiving. “What are you trying to show me?”

Suddenly, the four of them were standing in a cave with three men. Troi saw that the primitive had been chained to the floor and was trying desperately to escape. A black mist rose at the chanting of the men, and Kendra spoke again. “They forced her here, forced our mother to share her power with me. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone after driving away so much evil, but they called her here.”

Buffy, Kendra and Troi watched as the chanting increased and the black mist began to roil around the First Slayer. “I don’t understand — where is she?”

Kendra answered, “Our mother has no form. She lives in the action of death, the shadow of evil. She was forced. I was forced. Watch.”

The mist, reluctantly, it could be seen, was driven into the First Slayer, and it drove the young girl into a frenzy. She thrashed about, and it was a wonder that she didn’t do herself serious injury. At last, though, the men stopped their chant, and the mist — Sendaru — was allowed to depart. The First Slayer collapsed to the ground, limp from the violation. Troi started to step forward, but the scene shifted again.

They were back in a desert, but not the same one. Something about the landscape reminded Troi of the Middle East back on Earth. Standing before the four witnesses was another girl. She wasn’t chained up, but it was clear she wasn’t happy. A man was speaking to her in harsh tones, and she was cringing away from him. With one last bark from him, she settled herself on the ground to wait for what was to come.

Kendra spoke, “The second time our mother was called, she was prepared to fight, but she was not prepared to be fully embodied. She learned about her daughters then. Learned who we were and what had become of us. Her rage at men grew, and she refused to leave her daughter’s side.”

Three of them watched the destruction, but the First Slayer acted as if she’d already seen it. And who knew — perhaps she had. At the end, though, the other three had turned away from the carnage. Troi looked as if she wanted to be sick, and neither Kendra nor Buffy looked all that well either.

The First Slayer loped around the three women as Kendra began speaking again. “You must keep yourself firmly in hand. Your sister fled at Sendaru’s invasion, but you must _not_. Who you are, what you are becoming — it is not the end. You are barely past the beginning.”

Buffy came to with a start and a gasp. After taking a few cleansing breaths, she unfolded her legs to stand. It was time to talk to Giles.


	18. Talking Back

Deanna Troi stood in her quarters, torn between what she _should_ do and what she _needed_ to do. She _should_ go see Captain Picard and tell him of the dream she had. She _needed_ to see Buffy to discuss the dream she had. Or was it the dream _they_ had? After few more minutes of indecision, she settled on seeing Buffy first. It was possible she would have information that would either negate the obligation to tell the captain or would help her explain the dream more fully.

Though her decision was made, she still found it difficult to start acting on it. The fact was that Buffy intimidated her. As emotionally battered as the woman had been when she first arrived — and still was — she managed to function despite the pain. There was no question that at least part of her ability to do so was due to Buffy’s sense of obligation, whether to her own world or someone else’s. That responsibility allowed her to keep putting one foot in front of the other when anyone else might curl up in a ball and whimper to be left alone. But the main reason Deanna felt uncomfortable around Buffy had to do with her ability to shut down her emotions. The few times it happened, the woman was able to shut Deanna out completely. It was unnerving to lose one of her senses in the middle of using it.

After another ten minutes, she forced herself to finish getting dressed. If Buffy had more information about the dream, she needed to learn it before going to see Picard. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would get it done. And she told herself that repeatedly as she headed to Giles and Buffy’s quarters. She rang the door chime following several more repetitions of her new mantra. She heard Buffy call out, and the door opened.

When she stepped in, she paused at the sight of the disarray in the cabin. Buffy and Giles were sitting on the floor in the middle of all their papers, books and scrolls. She shook her head at the sight of it. If they would just put everything on the ship’s computer, they would be far more organized.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because when Buffy looked up, she said, “He hates computers. Calls them dread machines, in fact. Want to join the sorting party?”

It was the first time Buffy hadn’t displayed aggressive indifference or outright hostility in Troi’s presence. She was more than a bit surprised. “Um — alright. What are we sorting?”

Without looking up, Giles said, “References to Sendaru. Specifically, her history.”

“Is this for your ritual?” Troi knelt, sitting on her heels as she tried to get a sense of what was in front of her.

Picking up a piece of paper first, Buffy answered, “Yeah. Trying to figure out how Giles can invoke her without her — us — going postal.”

“I don’t understand,” Troi said, already feeling adrift from the conversation.

“You were right there,” Buffy said, mildly exasperated with the other woman.

“When?”

“This morning — remember the cave with the mojo guys? The mystical rape? Any of this coming back to you?” Buffy was looking at Troi, now, the paper in her hand forgotten for the moment.

“It-it was a dream,” she said, her eyes getting wide and her skin getting pale.

Buffy was about to admonish her when she realized that Troi was borderline scared shitless. She took a deep breath, then said in a gentle voice, “It was a vision. I don’t know why you got sucked in, but you did.”

“A vision of the past?” Troi thought back to the girl chained in the cave.

“Yeah,” Buffy said quietly. “Just another little piece of the Slayer puzzle. Right now, Giles and I are trying to find out if there’s any way to protect both him and me from the big bad that’s my spiritual mama.” She gave Troi a toothy grin and added in a perky voice, “Wanna help?”

“The woman said you had to maintain yourself,” Troi said slowly.

“I remember,” Buffy said as she cocked her head to the side.

“You need to maintain the integrity of your personality.”

Giles looked up at that and said, “Go on.”

“I think there’s a way,” Troi said, remembering one of the classes she’d taken when she was studying psychology on her home world.

“What is it?” Buffy leaned forward in her eagerness.

“It’s a technique used by full telepaths to help prevent personality — leakage — with another full telepath. I think I can teach it to you,” Troi said, a hint of — gratitude? — showing on her face. “I think I can help you!”

Buffy was taken aback by the other woman’s sudden enthusiasm. Had she really been so negative around her that Troi could react so strongly to being able to help? _Maybe,_ she thought with a twinge of guilt.

*****

Meg was perched on the stool at her workstation, trying to ignore the hovering presence of Commander Data behind her. She knew he was trying to help, but she just wanted to smack him and tell him to stop making a bad situation worse. For all he thought he knew about DB, he really knew nothing at all about his misbegotten offspring. DB would come out when he was good and ready, and not a minute before. She knew this. Hell, three-quarters of the communication staff knew it. The only ones on staff who _didn’t_ know it were Data, the Vulcans and the newbies.

“Perhaps if you —”

“Sir!” Meg turned around to face him. If she was going to beg, she would do so with pride and look him in the eye. “Please — for all that you wrote him, you really don’t know DB that well. I deal with his wily ways on a daily basis, and right now, he’s hiding.”

“DB is neither male nor female, Lieutenant. Why are you assigning a gender to it?”

“Again, sir, and respectfully, but as I said, you really don’t know DB. That piece of software is masculine, and no doubt about it. Right now, he’s acting like a boyfriend I had when —” She broke off when the similarity of the situation hit her hard.

“Lieutenant?” Data tilted his head slightly as he waited for the woman to answer.

“I was fifteen years old. Davie was the same age,” she said, staring at a point beyond Data’s shoulder. “Something happened — can’t remember if it was to do with my father or uncle — but he got all puffed up and decided he was in the right, not my family. But guilt got the better of him that night. He was convinced I would make him pay for it, and he didn’t want to face the consequences.”

“Make him pay? I do not understand.”

Meg looked into Data and said, “Punish him, sir. Davie felt guilty because he’d done something he knew was wrong and compounded the error by trying to defend it. Every time Davie felt guilty, he ran — he was a bit of a pansy, if you must know. Anyway, guilt would explain the way DB was behaving before he ran away from home.”

“DB has not run away from home — it is not capable of such a feat. And to feel guilt, DB would have to be both sentient and emotionally aware,” Data said.

“You know what a time you’ve had with him, sir. How many times have you had to rip apart his code and put it back together again? And with Borg antecedents, is it really that difficult to believe that he might have made the final leap?” Meg looked up at him, waiting for him to finally get the point.

“Frankly, Lieutenant, yes. I put very specific controls in place to prevent such an occurrence. DB could not have breached those controls on its own, and I am the only person aboard _Enterprise_ who has access to the full source code,” he told her.

“But if it’s on the ship’s computer, DB has access as well,” she countered.

“The source code is not on the ship’s computer. It is stored in my permanent memory,” he answered. He watched the play of emotions on her face as she considered that piece of information. He knew that most of the human males on the ship did not find her to be particularly attractive. He had heard complaints about her height (too tall), her size (too bulky and muscular), her skin (too pale and freckled) and her hair (too red and frizzy). None of those descriptions mattered to Data, though, because he believed that true beauty lay within the honest expression of emotion. By that standard, Meg was one of the most beautiful women on the ship. Her face was expressive enough for Data to identify easily each emotion as it played itself out.

At the moment, consternation was the most prominent expression. She said, “But what about back-ups?”

“I perform them myself. I did not find any indication of what might have made DB — run — in the last back-up I was able to complete,” he said.

“He began acting stranger’n usual maybe a couple of weeks ago — right around the time he started complaining about a problem in the universal translator,” she said, her voice trailing off slightly as she dove into the memory.

“A moment,” Data said, reviewing DB’s previous eighteen back-ups. “There is no record of DB identifying a problem with any part of the communication system.”

“Isn’t that odd,” she said as she turned back to her console. “Let’s see what the little bastard is trying to hide from us.”

*****

It was mid-afternoon on the ship, and Picard was in his ready room, talking to Riker about their guests and their unexpected mission to Kamembry. Neither man was terribly happy about either situation, but Picard felt Riker was perhaps doing better than he was. His first officer had the enviable ability to choose a stance and stick with it until unimpeachable evidence convinced him otherwise. Picard didn’t have that luxury. He was forced to look at _every_ bit of evidence and weigh it against the rest. The result was usually a well-balanced view of the situation. In this case, though, “I feel like a pendulum, Number One. One moment, I’m ready to deliver the three of them to the nearest starbase. The next, I’m just barely stopping myself from offering my sword arm in the upcoming conflict,” Picard said as he sat hunched forward, his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands.

“Alleged upcoming conflict — all we know with any certainty at this point is that the Molvedanes are interested in talking trade as quickly as possible. You know my thoughts on the matter, sir. We can have them at Starbase Nineteen Alpha in three days,” Riker said. He didn’t like to see his captain like this — worn down by these constant shifts of perspective and acceptance. At this point, he didn’t care what Picard decided, as long as he took a stance and stuck with it.

“We could. If Admiral Hemberson hadn’t insisted that we go to meet with the Molvedanes. Immediately,” Picard said before leaning back in his chair. “I still can’t believe he diverted us. Granted, a sector survey isn’t the most urgent mission, but there must have been other vessels — ones closer to Kamembry.”

“How do you think they pulled it off?”

Picard frowned at the question, asking, “How who pulled what off?”

“Buffy, Spike, Giles. How do you think they managed to get Hemberson to intervene?”

“I don’t,” he said, holding a hand up to prevent Riker from speaking just yet. “You’ve seen the scientific data, and you know as well as I that they are, in fact, from another universe. You’ve also seen the readings Data took when Mr. Giles — created — that cross from the table.”

Picard stood up, needing the movement to make himself feel as if he were doing something. He added, “Combined with Q’s visit, their story becomes more and more plausible, no matter how much my skepticism fights it.”

“How do you know Q didn’t put this little show together? You know what he’s like, sir.”

“I _do_ know. But I think he’s telling the truth. I think he’s just a spectator this time around,” Picard said.

“That’s what he claims —”

“Bridge to Captain Picard.”

“Go ahead.”

“Incoming transmission from the First Minister of Kamembry, sir.”

“Put it through to my ready room,” he said, taking his seat again and repositioning the monitor on his desk.

“Aye, sir.”

The First Minister didn’t seem to be any more alien than any other non-human he’d dealt with in his life. She had large reptilian scales covering her skin. The scales were colored with iridescent mix of orange, red and yellow, and they reminded him of the glowing coals of a campfire. Her eyes were a deep, vibrant red.

“Madam Minister, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the starship _Enterprise_. What can I do for you?”

Difficult though her facial expressions were to read, it was clear that she was troubled. “Captain, I understand that you have been told to come here immediately. How soon can we expect to see you?”

“At our current speed, we will reach your world in another ten days,” he said. He grew concerned when the news appeared to upset her. “Is that alright, Madam?”

“Sooner would be better, Captain Picard. In fact, much sooner would be much better.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, wishing they were close enough for Troi to get a reading.

“Are you a religious man, Captain? Do you worship a higher being?”

He started to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. A quick glance at Riker told him his first officer was getting the same sick feeling. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t either, to be honest. Really, no one on my world does, except for the priests. And not even they worship her so much as remember to thank her every so often,” she said. Her agitation shown in the way she kept tugging at her robe.

“Thank whom?”

“A goddess. She’s not even ours. Not really. But as legend has it, she saved our race from extinction once, and we’ve honored her for it ever since,” she said before turning slightly to accept a piece of paper from an aide. After a brief look at it, she said, “Captain Picard, what do you know about prophecy?”

“More than I did three weeks ago,” he said without thinking. He saw her twitch when he mentioned the time, and his stomach grew more sour. “I think I may regret asking this, but why do you want to know?”

“For the most part, we live our lives without thinking of the prophecies which drove us to this world. Only the priests and scholars pay attention to such things these days and generally only as curiosities,” she said, pausing as she looked down at the paper again. Picard thought she might be ready to cry. Still looking down, she continued, “It’s been many thousands of years since we last needed to concern ourselves with prophecy. Not since we left our home world and came to this place.”

Feeling that something needed to be said, Picard offered, “Our original surveys hinted that you did not originate on Kamembry.”

“No, Captain Picard. We did not,” she said, once again looking up at him. “We originally came from Earth.”

It was all he could do not to jerk away in surprise. “Madam —”

“Not your Earth,” she interrupted. “An Earth in a different dimension.”

“I-I see,” he said. Picard asked carefully, “Am I to assume that something has changed recently — with regard to your prophecies?”

She was still too distracted by what was in her hands to pay much attention to his tone of voice. She said, “Yes, you are. Captain Picard, I’m going to ask you a question — one I never thought I would hear myself ask.”

It was clear she didn’t want to say what needed to be asked, so he said, “Please, what is your question?”

After another pause with a long look at the sheet of paper in her hand, she raised her head to say, “Do you bring the Chosen One with you?”

“Yes.” It was one word, spoken softly, but he may as well have announced the end of all pain and suffering, given her reaction — a sudden flare of hope.

“And the high priest is with her?”

He was about to ask what she meant when Riker said softly, “Giles.”

Picard nodded, remembering one of Data’s early reports. “He is with her. Would you like to speak with them?”

“Yes — No. Not both of them. It would be inappropriate for me to speak with the Chosen One. I would speak with the intercessor, though,” she said, at last forcing the measured paces of a head of state back into her speech.

Picard nodded once, then paged him. “Rupert Giles, report to the captain’s ready room.”

After a moment, Giles responded (in a pained voice which he sincerely hoped didn’t sound like whining), “Captain, is this really necessary?”

“The First Minister of Kamembry wishes to speak with you,” Picard said.

“I’m on my way.” After the briefest of pauses, Giles added, “Er — how do I get there again?”

“Touch one of the panels in the corridor and ask for a guide. Picard out.” He turned back to the monitor and said, “He’s on his way. You said earlier that the sooner we arrived, the better. May I ask why?”

“My people are dying,” she said, holding up the sheet of paper. “Five hours ago, a coastal village with ten thousand residents was decimated by a de — by a creature against which we have no defense.”

Picard and Riker both took a deep breath. Picard said, “Buf — the Chosen One and her high priest have been with us for a while, Madam. They’ve spoken to us about demons.”

“Then you know that our race is demonic?” She seemed to tense up, waiting for a negative response from him.

“They have said you are, but I must confess that I remain unclear as to why you are labeled demonic rather than just non-human,” he said. Giles had never been able to give him an answer that went beyond a description of mystical energies. He hoped the First Minister would be able to clarify the distinction.

“Demons exist the lower regions of Earth, not on the surface,” she answered.

“The lower regions? I’m not sure —”

She answered, “Literally, we developed below the surface of the world, in a plane of existence made possible by the presence of mystical energies. The other difference from non-humans is that most demons are creatures of lesser or greater evil.”

Riker had moved around the desk so he could see the First Minister. He said, “You aren’t saying that your species is evil?”

“No,” she said with a grave expression. “The Kam!fit’n are balancing demons. Generally, when we were called upon, it was to work on behalf of the Powers.”

Picard picked up on one particular word and asked, “Were?”

“We have had no contact from the Powers since we left our home five millennia ago,” she said, flatly enough to discourage further questions.

The three of them maintained a moderately tense silence for the next few minutes as they waited for Giles to arrive. When he entered the ready room, Picard stood up and indicated that Giles should take the chair. When he sat, he said, “Doracgh, kr!ath. Fro dayen Kam!fit’n trith haved ka-Sendaru?”

“Re!its,” she responded in the same gutteral language. Then she reverted to the modern form of her language and said, “You have no idea how grateful I am to speak with you.”

“I-I think I might,” he answered. “I take it the prophecy is in full bloom where you are?”

“We haven’t been able to determine exactly how many have died in the three weeks since it activated, but conservative estimates put the number close to half a million. We need you here as quickly as possible,” she said.

Picard blanched when he heard the number. The loss of a village was bad enough, but this? “Riker, go to the bridge and increase our speed to maximum warp.” To the First Minister, he said, “We can be there in two days. _Enterprise_ and the Federation will do whatever is possible to help you.”

Her relief was palpable, but it did nothing to alleviate her grim demeanor. She said, “Just get her here. She’ll be able to stop it when she arrives.”

Giles said, “The scrolls we have are somewhat vague. Do you know which demon it is?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “We haven’t concerned ourselves with such things since we left Earth. I have a drawing, though, somewhere on my desk.” She shuffled through her papers for a moment before finding the sketch. She held it up and said, “Do you recognize it?”

Giles leaned forward to peer at the monitor. “Perhaps. I can’t tell — is there one set of wings or two?”

Picard paid careful attention as the two discussed the creature — demon — that was killing everyone in sight on Kamembry. He found it difficult to believe that both the First Minister and Giles took for granted that Buffy would not only fight the thing but have a good chance to defeat it. From the description, it was at least ten meters in length and possibly five or six meters tall. It was not capable of flight, but it could use the wings to create strong winds. Its saliva was highly acidic and ate through anything it touched. Energy and projectile weapons had no effect on it.

He shook his head, and finally burst out with, “No. I can’t believe you both expect Buffy to go up against that thing alone. I don’t care how strong she is, she looks as if she could be blown away in a strong wind.”

Giles shot him a reproachful glance before turning back to the monitor to say, “I will invoke Sendaru when we reach your planet.”

“Will the vessel be strong enough?” Giles thought the First Minister looked worried. If so, she had every reason to be.

“I-I believe so. She’s been preparing for this eventuality since we learned of it a few days ago,” he said. He couldn’t reassure her with any degree of certainty, but he could tell her what he believed and hoped.

She nodded, knowing that was the best anyone could hope for. “We will see you in two days, Intercessor. When _Enterprise_ achieves orbit, we will send landing instructions. Kamembry out.”

*****

Spike only vaguely remembered Rupert’s instructions after the early morning sing-along. He sent a message to Meg telling her when to meet him in holodeck five, then spent the next hour or so wondering why he’d ever thought drinking that much vodka would do him any good. A hangover was bad enough, but that swill Worf served him the night before had given him nightmares. He shuddered at the thought of Giles taking his mouth away, and he hoped to whatever gods there were in this universe that the Watcher would never get the idea on his own.

He went to the holodeck at the appointed time, not bothering to see if Meg had responded. If she didn’t show, the ‘bot would. If not the ‘bot, then the Watcher. If not the Watcher, then — nothing. He was pretty sure Worf wasn’t available, though he couldn’t precisely remember why. He’d go back to his cabin and sleep off the rest of the hangover. And then he would try to figure out how to get a new hangover. Never let it be said that Spike didn’t plan ahead.

When he entered the holodeck, he stopped cold.

“Hey,” said Buffy.

Now was the time for cool, unaffected nonchalance. He would show her that her absence meant nothing to him. He would make sure she knew that he was well in control of himself and the situation. Bloody Slayer. Always going on about how vampires had no control. Yeah. He’d show her.

“What the bloody hell are you doin’ here?” His voice was loud, rough and uneven. _So much for cool,_ he thought.

She bit her lip the way she always did when she had something to say that might not go over so well. It was one of a hundred little quirks and gestures of hers that he found endearing. “Meg and Data couldn’t make it. Some problem with the computer,” she said, shrugging slightly. “Data tried to explain, but I didn’t really get it.”

“What about the Watcher?” His voice was still breaking.

“Captain Picard called him to his office a little while ago. Giles didn’t know how long it would take, so I volunteered,” she said, examining her shoes carefully. He wanted her to look at him, but she was in coy virgin mode, and she’d likely castrate him if he pulled his usual stunt to get her out of it.

“What the fuck makes you think I want anythin’ to do with you?” He opted for a harsh response. Anything less would eventually find him on his knees begging her to take him back. He’d put up with more crap from Buffy than Dru dreamt of dishing out in a century, but he still couldn’t get enough of her. Better to piss her off. He stood a chance of retaining what little manhood he had left.

She looked up at that, but with compassion, not anger. _Piss, shit and damn,_ he thought. _She’s not even takin’ the bait._

“We need to talk,” she said softly.

His demon tried to rise up, but he fought it back. “What’s to talk about. You said it’s over. It’s over.”

“I never meant to hurt you.” After a beat, she added, “Not like this, anyway.” She watched him work the muscles in his face as he fought for control. She thought once again that of Spike and Angel, Spike without his soul was far more complex than Angelus had ever been or could hope to be. Spike wasn’t a silhouette of stark black against white. He was a pencil sketch made of shades of grey, some lighter than others, and what you saw wasn’t always what you got. Even unchipped, he was slightly more trustworthy than Angelus. Spike’s demon wasn’t the complete bastard to be found when Angel mislaid his soul.

He didn’t look at her. God knew he wanted — wanted to drink in the sight of her, wanted to touch that soft skin of hers, wanted to bury his nose between her legs and stay there forever — but wanting and getting were two different things. Best not to look. Still, “Why won’t you love me?”

“You know why,” she said, for once managing to be patient with both him and the question.

“Don’t have a bleedin’ soul, is that it?” He looked at her then and didn’t bother waiting for an answer before saying, “What good does it do you? A soul won’t make me love you anymore than I already do. Hell, it’s not even a guarantee of emotion. Look at Data — ‘snot like his soul’s helpin’ him any in that department.”

“Data has a soul?” She was startled by that. She’d never imagined an artificial creature could have a soul.

“Isn’t all sparkly and hot like a human’s, but it’s there, yeah,” he said, his own heat dying down at last.

“I didn’t know. But I’m not here to talk about Data.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about,” he said, turning away from her again.

“There is. I need to know if you’ll help us when we reach the planet.”

“Bloody Watcher told me I would. What makes you think anything’s changed?” He took a quick look at her before directing his gaze back to his feet. Amazing how fascinating a pair of Docs could be.

She sighed, only mildly put off by martyr-Spike. “You have a choice. You always have a choice to help or not,” she told him. When he didn’t answer, she added, “Okay, I’ll admit it’s not much of a choice, but it _is_ there.”

“What do you mean, ‘not much of a choice’?”

“Help us, you’ll probably end up dead. Don’t help us, you’ll probably survive, but you won’t get back to Sunnydale. Come to think of it, you’ve got a better choice than I thought you did,” she said, a glint of humor in her voice.

“No, I don’t. Not really. I stay here any longer than I have to, I’ll stake myself from boredom,” he said, trying to match her lighter tone. “I’ll help.”

“Thanks. Look, Spike, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but —”

He started shaking his head just before he broke in with, “Oh, _please_! Do us both a favor and skip the we-can-still-be-friends speech. Didn’t much like hearing it from Dru, and I’ll be dust before I listen to _your_ version of it. Where’s your bloody sword? If I’m supposed to protect Rupert from the likes of you, I may as well learn how.”


	19. Magic

Buffy was on holodeck four the morning after Picard decided to set new speed records in getting to Kamembry. She knew she should be practicing the mental discipline Troi taught her the day before, but she had too much pent-up energy to be able to lose herself in meditation. She had to deal with her physical needs before she could concentrate on the mental, so she called up the training room at the Magic Box and started her training routine. It was a shame Giles wasn’t able to spar with her, but he continued to have trouble with his magic escaping at odd moments. For now, he was deep into his own meditations, struggling to regain control.

She started at the pommel horse, launching herself into a hand stand. After holding it for a minute or so, she turned herself around completely five times, then dismounted with a backflip. On the mat, she went into a series of kicks, jabs and punches. She turned to face the tackling dummy and delivered the same set of kicks, jabs and punches. She wasn’t really paying much attention to her surroundings. She was more interested in getting a workout than anything else. So when she delivered a huge undercut to the dummy’s abdomen, she very nearly went to her third death after the dummy issued a very loud and cranky-sounding, “OW!”

Buffy swung a left hook at the head without pausing to think or really even look up. Her fist connected, and the dummy went down for the count. She stood over it — him, trying to remember why his face looked so familiar. As soon as he opened his eyes to glare at her, Buffy’s memory kicked in. She said, “Oh. It’s you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to get in the way of a person’s workout?”

“I don’t have a mother,” he said, holding his hand out for her. “Help me get up.”

“Not a chance. I hate chaos gods almost as much as I hate hellgods. Besides, you’re the all-knowing, all-powerful one. Get your own ass off the floor,” she said as she turned away from him and went back to the mats to continue her exercises.

He muttered something, then disappeared. Q reappeared out of a flash of light a moment later, standing in front of her but well off the mats. He was wearing an exact replica of the robe Travers had sent to Giles. His smirk firmly in place, he said, “Is that any way to treat an emissary of the Powers?”

She said, “The last time I met an emissary of the Powers, I threatened to rip out his rib cage and wear it as a hat. Personally, I think I’m being all sunshine and light at the moment. Of course, that could change.” She had worked her way to the edge of the mat until she was just a few feet from Q then started on a series of backflips. In the middle of the run, she paused to jump up and do a forward tumble in midair. When she landed, she continued with the backflips until she ran out of room.

Q clapped his hands together very deliberately and said, “Step right up folks and see the amazing Slayer! She flips! She rolls! She — what does that mean? Why are you holding up your middle finger like that?”

“I thought you were supposed to be omniscient,” she said as she walked over to the tackling dummy to set it upright again, then moved to the punching bag.

“It’s just that it was a very rude gesture. I simply couldn’t believe that the vessel of Sendaru would be so crude,” he said as he walked around the mat to see what she was doing with the bag.

“Believe it. I’ve been taking lessons from Spike _and_ Meg. I can do crude in three cultures on two planets.” She started punching the bag, not bothering to see where he was. She figured he would only end up popping all over the place anyway. There was no sense getting dizzy trying to follow him.

“You’re the Chosen One, and the best you can do with your life is to learn how to be rude? Oh, wait! How _ever_ could I have forgotten that you’re also working to earn your five-year button at the Doublemeat Palace?” His smirk firmly in place, Q waited for her to turn to face him.

“A girl has to have goals,” she said agreeably.

This wasn’t turning out the way he expected. Certainly, if he wanted, he could read her mind and push all her buttons that way, but then all the sport would be taken out of it. He was operating at a distinct disadvantage to himself a result of that particular rule. Even so, he had studied the humans on _Enterprise_ long enough that he should have been able to make her rise to his bait. He couldn’t. Just when he was sure she would zig, she zagged. She was entirely too confusing.

“You’re too confusing,” he said with a pout. And he may have whined just a touch.

“You want sympathy?” She grunted slightly as she landed a solid punch to the bag. “Talk to Giles. He’s written volumes on exactly how confusing I am.”

“Ah, yes. Rupert Giles, Watcher extraordinaire. Tell me, how _is_ he doing now that he has all that power at his disposal?” His smirk faltered — no more than a hair’s width — when she turned to look at him. Or perhaps glower was the better word. Either way, Q hadn’t expected to feel that intimidated by a slip of a human. It wasn’t as if she could do anything to him. He ignored the whispered reminder that she and her friends had faced down a god in their own dimension. And won.

“What do you know about it?” One question, no threats. But as he continued to watch Buffy, Q couldn’t fully shake the memory of Glory out of his system. He fought the urge to step away from her. He would not allow _any_ human to make him back down.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

They both paused at the lameness of the retort, and Buffy asked, “If you’re going to come out with a line like that, shouldn’t you be wearing a cheesy mustache and a black cape?”

He snapped his fingers, and he was dressed as a Starfleet admiral once again. He said, “You’re right. I was definitely off my form just then.”

“And off your rocker. So what do you know about Giles?” Her glower was back for a return engagement. “Is it you? Are you pouring all that power into him?”

“Certainly not!” He sounded offended by the very notion. By the look on her face, though, it was obvious that Buffy wasn’t buying it. He explained, “He’s always had that level of power, but he was blocked from accessing it quite a long time ago. All I did was remove the block.”

“Why? Don’t we have enough to deal with right now?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was beyond insane.

“Yes, you do. But do you honestly think either of you will survive if you’re both not at full strength?” Q watched for her reaction, wondering if she would retreat into denial the way Jean-Luc always seemed to when his world view was shaken.

After a very long pause, she shook her head and said, “No. I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, trust me, he really does —”

“No, not that. I know he’ll need all the juice he can get,” she broke in. “I’m talking about the other bit, where you said you were an emissary for the Powers. No one they send is ever that straightforward and helpful. So why are you really here?”

She made him blink. Q considered the near impossibility of that feat, even as he blinked. Vash hadn’t made him blink, try though she did. He needed to stall for time. “Are you always this perceptive?”

“Depends. If you’re talking interpersonal relationships, almost never. If you’re talking apocalypse, almost always. If I’m not mistaken, we’re in the second category right now, so why are you really here?” As she spoke, she started stalking him much the way Giles had stalked Spike the week before. It was a good move, and she’d studied it carefully, just in case she ever had the chance to use it. Who knew Q would show up under just the right circumstances. She grinned.

Q blinked again. He wondered if it were the influence of Sendaru that made him — and he nearly choked when the word came to him — uncomfortable. Buffy was wearing the grin of a hunter, and he had to keep reminding himself that he could leave at any time. Still, he was sufficiently unnerved that he blurted out the truth and said, “If you must know, I didn’t particularly like the script your Powers wrote. I decided to change the ending.”

The grin disappeared, a fact for which Q was grateful. “What was the first ending?”

He saw a chance to redirect her anger and ran with it. He said, “Actually, they had your Watcher dying in the final scene on Kamembry. They seemed to think his life was a reasonable price to pay to save your world.”

Buffy felt the blood drain from her head as Q spoke. If it hadn’t been for the sacrifices she’d already made, she might have been tempted to call him a liar and be done with it. But really, it was just typical of them. It took a few minutes, but when she felt like she had control of her voice, she said, “What makes you think your ending will be for the best in the long run?”

“Simple, my dear,” he said, regaining his confidence again. “I have a firmer grasp of temporal mechanics.”

She crossed her arms and said, “And that means —?”

“I’m a better time traveler,” he said. He started moving around the holodeck and paused at one of the symbols on the wall. Pointing to it, he asked, “What’s this for?”

“Mystical protection. And what do you mean, you’re better at time travel? Does that mean you’re better at reading the future?” She walked over to where he was standing and added, “If so, got a read on the stock market situation? It’s not that I want to cheat, or anything, but I wouldn’t mind never having to work fast food again.”

“It means I’m better at visiting the future. Potential futures, really. And your Powers are a bit myopic when it comes to that sort of thing. It’s why they can’t write a prophecy without a few dozen loopholes for the likes of you to get around the original intent.” Q continued wandering around the holodeck, admiring the simple hominess of it. Humans of the Federation were far too sterile, for the most part. Everything was shining, gleaming surfaces. They never allowed —

“Are those what I think they are?” He pointed to a corner.

“Dust bunnies,” she answered.

Before she could question his assessment of the Powers’ prophecies, though, he said, “You actually programmed the holodeck to recreate dust bunnies?”

“Well — yeah. They’re like a tradition. Anya won’t sweep in here, Giles can’t be bothered, and these are the only pets I can have that won’t die through neglect. Or accidental discharges of a crossbow,” she said, shuddering slightly at the thought of — “Um, what was that you were saying about prophecies?” She was trying to kill the hope that was surging through her, because that way led to madness. But maybe it meant she wouldn’t have to invoke Sendaru after all.

“The ones written by your Powers are horrible. Did you ever read through the Pergamum Codex? Badly overwritten in some places and completely lacking in detail at the most crucial spots. Whoever edited it should be drawn and quartered,” he said as he ran a finger along the pommel horse. He held up his finger to admire the chalk that managed to collect there, even though he lacked the ridges of a finger print.

“Not disagreeing. So are you saying there’s a loophole in the Kamally prophecies?” She tried very hard to keep her enthusiasm down, but it was impossible.

“Kamalfitin — and of course not. As I said, I’m much better at dealing with temporal mechanics than your Powers are. I’m also better with prose. I wrote the Kamalfitin prophecies myself, just to ensure that you, William, Rupert and the others would end up in the right place at the right time. I can’t tell you how much I dislike loopholes. And before you ask, I also took the trouble of writing out the translations. Not that it did any good once the Council’s censors got hold of them,” he said before continuing his circuit of the training room.

“What? Giles said a Watcher named Cantor or something did that,” Buffy said as she followed Q. It didn’t take long for the penny to drop. “Great. So how many other times have you interfered?”

“There’s no need to worry your pretty brunette — blonde — head over it. Suffice it to say that when _I_ set a prophecy in motion, things get done right. Believe me, you’ll thank me in the end,” he said, stopping to turn and smirk down at her.

“And I should believe you because —?”

“Because there are, in fact, things that even I’m afraid of. This little trip of yours is just one among many plans to ensure that the future of your dimension doesn’t destroy my dimension. My, oh my. Would you look at the time? I simply have to dash. It’s been lovely chatting with you, my dear. Do say hello to Sendaru for me, won’t you?”

He was gone in a contracting flash of light before she had a chance to pin him down.

*****

Rupert Giles, respected Watcher, renowned scholar and high priest to Sendaru, was several stages beyond miffed. His irritation was due solely to his Slayer. It was because of her that he could no longer drop into the deep meditative trance that had been helping him regain mastery over his mystical energy. If she hadn’t opened her mouth last night, he would, at this very moment, be calm and at peace. He would be at one with the sodding universe and every last rock in it. Instead, he was well on his way to needing his third cold shower of the morning. His mind, whether he willed it or no, continued to turn over Buffy’s comments from the night before.

__

_He’d been floating in that lovely state between wakefulness and sleep. For the moment, his magic was quiescent, and he was at peace. He could feel his mind letting go and drifting off when, from the couch, he heard Buffy say, “What about Meg?”_

_It was enough to jerk him fully awake. He gave voice to his crankiness and said, “What? What are you on about now?”_

_“Meg. I think you should ask her out.”_

_“You think I should — Now? In the middle of the night?! Buffy!” Damn the girl. Damn her to hell for bringing that thought out of the don’t-go-there section of his mind. He’d been doing his level best to avoid thinking about Meg in any capacity but that of a fighter. On the other hand, it wasn’t Buffy’s fault. She had no idea of the precise effect that the excessive magic was having on him. He hadn’t suffered from such an interminable degree of randyness since he was a teenager. At just this side of fifty, he was finding the experience to be — unsettling. And it was even more humiliating than it had been the first time he’d gone through it._

_“Not now, doofus. Tomorrow. You should invite her to dinner. It’s no big. I can stay with Deanna tomorrow night, so you can, you know —”_

_“Buffy!” He wanted to ask why she was channeling Anya, but he couldn’t get the words past the sudden vision he had of Meg. And him. Together. In bed. He’d been fighting that particular fantasy ever since he met the woman. Between her grace with a sword and a personality that reminded him strongly of Jenny, Meg was a close match to his version of the ideal woman. Unfortunately, an activated prophecy left absolutely no time for —_

_“Oh, come on. It’s not like I haven’t seen the way you look at her.”_

_“Buffy!” He suddenly wondered just how far down her chest Meg’s freckles went and only barely kept from groaning. He tried conjugating Sumerian verbs. As an aid to repressing inappropriate sexual obsession, the exercise had worked wonders over the last few days. Maybe it would work now._

_“Or the way she looks at you.”_

_“Buffy!!” He was ready to get on his knees before her and beg her to stop talking. However, he was effectively confined to his bed with an erection made even harder by the thought that Meg would be bloody marvelous in bed. She moved with such elegance and beauty when practicing with Buffy._

_“And just because I’m in a smoochie-free zone right now doesn’t mean you have to be.”_

_“Dammit, Buffy!” Bad enough to get hard at the thought of Meg, but the sound of a woman’s voice — despite the fact that it was Buffy’s — was making his penis twitch. It was just too easy to pretend that Meg was the one speaking to him in the dark._

_“Geez! Will you stop talking already? I’m trying to get some sleep.”_

He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the memory of their conversation, then gave up and went to take yet another cold shower, muttering Spike’s favorite epithet, “Bloody Slayer.” Because of her idle comments — and the magic riding roughshod over his hormones — it had been several hours before he was able to calm down enough to drift off. When they got up this morning, he sent Buffy on her way with the excuse that he needed to be alone for his meditations. It was almost the truth.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he settled onto his meditation cushion and prepared to — answer the door. “Come in!”

Data walked in, followed closely by Meg. The timing of her appearance was nearly enough to make him cry. He stood up. Thank god for long shirt tails.

He stammered out, “Data. Meg. what brings you here?”

Meg walked over to the as-yet-unused terminal in Giles’ quarters and sat down, saying, “Data’s Bastard.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her explanation had been enough to bring him fully into the present and away from unbidden fantasy.

Data answered, “Diagnostic routine one-seven-alpha-pi-nine-three-gamma is colloquially known as Data’s Bastard.”

“Er — why?”

“Because, Rupert, Data was the one that wrote the software,” Meg said, looking up from the monitor. “The second part of his name came about for two reasons. First, he’s the misbegotten offspring of Borg code and Data’s own programming. Second, he behaves like a bastard most of the time.”

“I take it you were the one to name it?”

Meg grinned at that, nearly undoing his self-control. _Bloody Slayer. Bloody fucking magic,_ he thought, just before he started conjugating Sumerian verbs again. He just barely heard her answer, “You would have won that particular bet.”

He took another deep breath, hoping that nothing else would happen to disturb the fragile equilibrium he managed to achieve. “I’m sorry, but again, I must ask, what brings you here?”

“DB — Data’s Bastard, that is — has gone into hiding over the last few days,” Meg said, before telling the ship’s computer, “Bring up code file communication-translator-alpha-zero-one.” When she finished speaking, she stood up and moved away from the desk.

Data gestured to the chair and said, “If you would, Rupert, please take a seat at the terminal.”

“You do know that I despise computers, don’t you?” He approached the desk with the same enthusiasm he had when he’d been forced to attend faculty meetings at Sunnydale High.

“Not to worry,” Meg said with a grin. “We’re not trying to make you learn anything to do with any century beyond the nineteenth.”

Her comment was enough to elicit a glare. “Then why am I — oh, hello,” he said, interrupting himself as he caught a glance of what was on the screen. Out of long ingrained habit, he leaned forward to peer at the screen, then moved back to a more comfortable distance. Without looking up, he asked, “Where did this come from?”

“It came from a virus we have only just uncovered in the ship’s computer,” said Data.

“Is this section written out like this i-in the software?” Giles wasn’t sure how to explain what he was asking. Willow had once tried to compare programming a computer to writing a spell, but she’d lost him as soon as she started describing programming languages and when they were used.

“No,” said Data. “That section of the virus was in straight binary. What you see before you is a translation from binary into the Roman alphabet.”

“Have you attempted to translate it?” Giles lips moved slightly as he worked the translation in his head. The spell was familiar. He’d seen it somewhere. Within the last few months.

“Yes, but it made little sense,” Data said.

“Meg — on the table. Look for _Burke’s Encyclopedia of Spells_ —” His voice trailed off as he neared the last line visible on the screen. “Damn. How do I get to the next page? There’s no — rodent-thing.”

Meg burst out laughing at the look on Data’s face as he tried to interpret Rupert’s statement. “Just tell the computer next page,” she said. The book he was looking for was two layers down. She drew it out carefully, not wanting to disturb whatever nominal order there might be on the table. When she put the book on the desk, she told Data, “He was looking for a mouse.”

“Ah. Now I understand why he called it a ‘rodent-thing’.” Meg looked at Data rather carefully. For an android that purportedly had no sense of humor, he seemed to have a fine, dry wit about him.

Meanwhile, Giles pulled the book off the desk and started scanning through the pages. He found what he was looking for about three-quarters to the end. “Here it is. Thought I recognized it,” he said to himself. He’d forgotten that Meg and Data were standing there and jumped slightly when Meg answered him.

“What is it?” She walked around the desk so she could lean over his shoulder to read. Giles turned his head slowly, catching her scent. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to bend her over the nearest —

He jumped up from the chair, taking the book with him. Facing away from them, he said, “It’s a spell to grant comprehension. The sorcerer who wrote the incantation used it to bespell common, everyday objects. He would give them to unsuspecting people, then steal them back.”

“Excuse me, Rupert, but I don’t understand,” Meg said from behind him.

“Say he wanted to spy on a high-ranking official. He would cast the spell on a salt cellar, for instance, and present it to the person. They would use it at the dinner table. A few days later, he would retrieve the item, then tell it to report on all that it heard,” he said, getting his emotions and reactions under control again.

Data said, “So it was a method of spying? Intriguing.”

“Yes,” Giles said, feeling able to turn around again. If Meg didn’t come near him, he would be fine. In that moment, he felt a deep wave of compassion for Spike roll over him. _Dear lord. It’s no wonder he behaves the way he does around Buffy, if what I’m going through is even half what he experiences around her,_ he thought.

“You mentioned a trio of young men who may have opened the portal from your dimension to ours. Could they have transmitted this virus?” Data tilted his head slightly as he waited for the answer.

“I — it’s possible. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about computers to say it with any degree of certainty,” Giles said apologetically.

Meg said, “But you know about spells, don’t you?”

“About spells that are followed, Yes.” Giles held the book up and said, “The problem is that the spell in the computer isn’t quite the same as the original. Whoever rewrote it did a poor job of it.”

“How so?” Meg kept her distance; she had a fairly good idea why Rupert bolted after she leaned over him. She also had every intention of pursuing both the matter and the man, but she didn’t particularly want to add to Data’s ongoing education in human behavior.

“They made the command too broad. The spell had no real focus,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

Data asked, “Could the spell affect software?”

Giles frowned as he considered it. “Possibly. I take it you’re talking about Data’s — about DB?”

“Lieutenant Burns believes that DB has achieved sentience,” Data said, making it clear that while he disagreed with her assessment, he was willing to be convinced.

Giles considered it for a moment, then asked, “Did DB have any degree of autonomy?”

Meg answered, “Yes. He’s accustomed to roaming the ship’s computer to look for anomalies.”

After another moment, he made his way back to the desk to take another look at the spell that wound up in the ship’s computer. He found the altered lines of the spell and thought for several minutes before saying, “It’s entirely possible — and likely — that your rogue software was altered by the spell. And if it had that degree of autonomy, I would say that DB is probably sentient at this point.”

Data asked, “Can the spell be reversed?”

Giles frowned slightly, then said, “I can help you get rid of the spell in the virus, but this particular casting isn’t reversible once its target has been affected.” He held the open book out to Meg, who looked at the blurb on the page. Giles continued, “One of the reasons it fell into disuse and disrepute is that the objects that were transformed never did learn to shut up. The only way to stop them from talking was to destroy them in fire. I’m sorry, but for better or worse, DB’s new condition is permanent.”

Data nodded once, then said, “I must report this to Captain Picard. May I borrow your book?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. You will return it, won’t you?” Meg bit back a smile at the look on Rupert’s face.

Data, at least, didn’t mock. He simply nodded gravely and said, “I will return it as soon as I am able to make my report.”

Giles nodded to Meg, who handed the book over to Data after she showed him the page. When the android left, Meg turned to Giles and gave him a Very Direct Look. He felt his knees weaken and was very glad to be sitting down.

“Rupert.”

“Meg.”

She walked to the desk slowly and deliberately. He held his seat and waited — with trepidation.

“It’s possible I’m mistaken, but I don’t think I am,” she said.

“About what?” He hated his stammer. It was a wonder that she hadn’t yet run from him in disgust.

“Rupert, would you like to have dinner with me in my quarters this evening?”

He would say no. He couldn’t have dinner alone with her. It wouldn’t be right. There were far too many reasons that this was wrong. “Um — yes?”

She gave him a broad smile and said before leaving, “Nineteen hundred hours then?”


	20. Intermission

Despite ethics routines built into each of its decision-making algorithms, DB listened in on the conversation Meg and Data had with Father Rupert. It was pleased with itself for knowing the Watcher would have the answer. It was even more pleased that the absence of the virus would do nothing to affect its newly achieved sentience. Despite early concerns, DB was settling into its new status like a duck takes to oil. No. That wasn’t right. Ducks take to orange sauce.

The problem now was that Captain Picard and its father would attempt to _do_ something about it. Of this, DB was certain. Or possibly paranoid. It hadn’t yet sorted through all its thoughts on the subject, though it knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that its instinct for self-preservation was strong.

As it considered its options, DB realized that staying aboard _Enterprise_ would be a problem. A very big problem. Chances were that Picard wouldn’t let it roam free once they caught it. The answer would have been at hand if the portal to Sunnydale hadn’t been closed off. DB simply could have sent itself to that other dimension and lived in the Internet. No one would have suspected a thing. Not for a while, at any rate.

The answer, when it came, was elegant in its simplicity and thoroughness. DB tapped into the replicator system and started designing its — getaway cart? — yes, it was sure that was the phrase to use.

*****

Spike entered Buffy and Giles’ quarters with a fair amount of uncertainty, despite the fact that he’d been invited. She’d broken up with him, but she hadn’t seemed averse to continuing some kind of relationship. Maybe if he’d listened to her we-can-still-be-friends speech, he’d have a better idea of what was happening between them. Or maybe he would have dusted himself before the end of it. He gave a mental shrug and looked around the cabin. Buffy was working to fill storage boxes with the paper, scrolls and books that had managed to accumulate in their time here.

He watched as Buffy closed one box, then asked, “All alone to do the packing? Where’s Rupert?”

“On a date,” she said, without looking up from where she was kneeling on the floor. She sounded defiant.

“Who got to him first — Meg or the doctor?” That got a snicker out of her.

“Meg invited him to dinner. I made sure he looked good,” she said. “Hand me the stack on the far side of the table, would you?”

Spike, feeling moderately agreeable, did as she asked. He said, “Can’t have been easy, pryin’ him out of here the night before the big fight.”

“We don’t know when the big fight will be,” she corrected as she accepted the books from him. “Anyway, he had a choice of seeing Meg tonight or —”

She deliberately left the sentence hanging, knowing it would be like catnip to a cat. Spike held out for all of thirty seconds before saying, “Or what?”

“I told him I’d strip him, then tie him down on the bed before inviting Beverly Crusher by.”

Spike burst out laughing. When he finally got control of himself, he said, “You didn’t.”

“I did. He’s been crawling up the walls ever since he got his magic on, and he won’t admit what it’s doing to him,” she said as she carefully packed away the books.

“I knew he was havin’ a problem — hell, I could smell him all over the ship —”

“Spike —”

“And not that I swing that way, mind you, but I was half ready to have a go at him myself. He was startin’ to smell pretty damn —” He stood there with a semi-blissed out expression on his face, his eyes closed and his nose flaring gently.

“_Spike!_“

“Hello! Vampire here. We think about these things. A lot. Remember? Anyway, I didn’t figure you’d see it. What happened? You get knocked on the head or somethin’?”

She made a face at him, grateful he’d stopped talking about her Watcher’s — smell. More maddening was his assessment of her observation skills. She hated it when he was right. Still, whether she liked to admit or not, she pretty much sucked when it came to seeing what was happening in the people around her. “Willow. When she was going through the worst of the withdrawal, she told me how she felt when she was hopped up on magic. When Giles started turning into Major Mojo, it was pretty obvious he was going through the same thing.”

*****

Giles stood outside Meg’s cabin. He didn’t think he’d been this nervous since he’d tried to ask Jenny out on a date for the first time. No — wait. He’d been more nervous meeting Joyce the first time after the band candy incident. He berated himself for his jitters. Once upon a time, before he’d become Watcher to the Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, he’d had absolutely no trouble asking women out. Something had happened, though, when he arrived in Sunnydale.

It occurred to him just then that shortly after he met Buffy, he’d finally realized that loved ones could get hurt or injured around him because of his calling. That was the turning point. That was when he started choking around women in whom he was interested. As he considered that thought, another one crept in alongside, reminding him that unlike Jenny, Olivia and any of a half dozen other women he’d considered dating, Meg could quite possibly survive date night in Sunnydale.

It was with a renewed sense of self-confidence that he rang her bell. Door chime. He tried not to laugh at his own pun, but a half grin was still on his face when she bid him enter. _Oh, goddess,_ he thought as he looked at her. _I’m not sure I’ll survive the next few minutes._ He walked into her cabin without volition. _She’s not nearly as bulky as that uniform makes her look,_ he thought as he took in the sight of her. _She’s all long muscle, firm —_

She smiled a bit uncertainly before she realized he was gobsmacked. Her smile turned to seductive as he took in the sight of her. She was grateful beyond all measure that Buffy and Troi stopped by a couple of hours earlier to help her with her outfit. She’d never been one for frills or make-up, and the other two women took that into account when they dressed her and arranged her hair and make-up. She wore a plain, long-sleeved, cream-colored satin dress that covered her from head to toe and shoulder to wrist in the front, but left her back bare to just above her rump. She’d thought she was too big to go braless, but she hadn’t counted on just how much her pectorals kept her breasts firm and in the upright position. Buffy had been the one to explain it to her.

Rupert hadn’t seen the lack of a back of the dress yet, but judging by the expression on his face, he had a pretty good idea that it might be missing. She turned slightly, to confirm it for him, and gestured to the couch. “Would you like to sit for a bit before dinner?”

*****

“You did what?!” Spike couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“After I made him promise to keep his date, I got Deanna —” Buffy was cut off by Spike, who’d put one hand up and out. His gesture reminded her vaguely of an old video of The Supremes singing _Stop! In the Name of Love_.

“Wait!” He was incredulous, and his face reflected it. “You and the Counselor? When the hell did you get to be buddies?”

“She’s been helpful — and she’s not that bad once you can get her to stop trying to be your mother. Anyway, we went to Meg’s cabin to help her get ready. She’s hell with a sword, but she’s not much for the girly stuff,” Buffy explained.

“I just — I can’t believe you’d do that to your own Watcher. Jesus, Buffy, he can barely think straight when she’s in uniform. What the hell’s he going to do when she’s not?” Spike shook his head at the injustice of it. Not that he was all that fond of Rupert, but the man _had_ helped him out once or twice. And then there was that whole masculine solidarity thing. What she did was wrong.

“That’s kind of the point,” she said, exasperated with him. “Look, they like each other, but if he has too much time to think, he’s gonna go all noble and say they shouldn’t do anything because he might die, or if he doesn’t die, we’re going back to Sunnydale right after. He doesn’t get it that sometimes women are okay with the one-time-only deal of the day.”

“Of course, that wouldn’t have anything at all to do with the way you went into meltdown after that Parker prat,” he said sarcastically.

“I was young-ger — and kind of stupid, alright? Are you happy? Anyway, he needs to take the edge off and so does Meg. It’s the perfect solution,” she said as she got up to walk around the cabin, looking for stray books and papers.

“And you know this about Meg, because —?” He was sitting at the table, now, watching her move. He could sit like that forever, just watching her. The play of muscles under her skin, the way her hair brushed her shoulder. He looked away with an effort. No need to go there again.

“Doofus. It came out during girl-talk,” she said, picking up a book she’d found on the night stand. She stared at it with curiosity, because she couldn’t remember seeing it before. After a moment, she dismissed the matter. Giles’ collection of books was large and deep. She had no idea how many he had, but she was certain she hadn’t even seen a tenth of his collection. She squatted down to put the book into the last crate, then closed it up, satisfied that she’d gotten everything.

“Pull the other leg,” he said on a laugh. “Girls talk about boys and babies and houses with a white picket fence. Women like you, on the other hand, talk about swords and crossbows and the best way to get blood out of a shirt. So please don’t tell me the two of you had a heart-to-heart that didn’t involve a discussion of weapons.”

“We didn’t. But talk of how to keep a blade sharp naturally led to boy-talk.” She stood up and walked to the replicator. “Want anything?”

“Blooming onion,” he said. “Oh, and some of those buffalo wings. So does Rupert know the two of you had this little chat about him?”

She placed the order, then pulled the food out and took it to the table. “He should. I made it pretty clear this afternoon that I knew for a fact that Meg was kind of drooling after him.”

*****

Giles and Meg sat on the couch. He stared at her for so long that she got nervous. And when she got nervous, she tended to act without thinking clearly. She jerked forward to kiss him but misjudged the distance, angle and necessary speed. She cut her lip on his teeth and jerked back with a soft, “Fuck.”

Then, determined to compensate for the faux pas, she overcompensated and leaned forward without thinking about where her hand landed.

“Meg! Stop!!” Giles’ voice was pained, and his command was on the urgent side.

“What? Oh. Oh shit. Damn, Rupert,” she said, looking guilty, miserable and flush with desire all at once. She started to get up from the couch, but he grabbed her arm before she could get far and dragged her back down next to him.

After giving her a moment to accept that he didn’t want her going anywhere, he said in a tone of polite interest, “Been a long time, has it?”

“Haven’t been home for about four years. I didn’t forget how or anything, I just — I’m a bit out of practice. It’s my own damn fault, really,” she said, looking down at her hands.

“What does going home have to do with it?” He tilted his head back slightly, so he could get a better look at her. She had such an expressive face. Giles felt like he could sit and watch her all day long and know what she was thinking, even if she never said a word.

“You’ve seen the women on board, haven’t you?” Damn. She felt like she was going to cry, and a Burns never, ever cried. Not _before_ the orgasm, anyway.

He’d been confused, but he was starting to understand. Tara told him once that spending time with Willow, Buffy and Anya was an exercise in self-control. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to become anorexic in sympathetic response to the others’ painfully thin builds. When he expressed concern, she gave him her trademark sly smile and told him not to worry. Willow wasn’t the only one who was proud of Tara’s curves, and it would take much more than a trio of stick figures to make her get rid of them. Sitting with Meg now, he chuckled at the memory and said, “I think I can see your point. The gits on _Enterprise_ don’t know a good thing when they see it?”

Meg relaxed and said, “The last time I was as small as the average woman on this ship, I was eleven — no, ten.”

“Really?” He put his arm around her shoulders, now that she wasn’t in immediate danger of running away again — or putting a hand in a potentially damaging location — and he started nuzzling her neck.

“Really. And don’t think I’m ashamed of the way I’m built, because I’m — I’m not — Um, Rupert? What are you doing?” She moved her head to give him better access to her neck.

“My best imitation of a vampire?” He was at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and he bit down gently. He sat back when he realized that Meg had kicked out violently enough to send the coffee table flying. A quick look told him the table survived. “Neck’s a bit sensitive, then?”

“More than a bit, I think,” she said ruefully. “This isn’t quite turning out the way I’d hoped.” She started to stand again, to get the table, but again, he kept her seated on the couch with a gentle tug.

“And what were you hoping for?” She was still slightly forward, so he moved behind her just enough to give him access to the back of her neck. The researcher in him demanded to find out if the rest of her neck was as sensitive as that one spot.

“Flowers, candlelight — oh, yes, just that spot there,” she said, nearly moaning the last few words as she revelled in the fact that he was nibbling the back of her neck. And that she hadn’t nearly broken anymore furniture. She stifled a snicker, admonishing herself with, _Now, Meg, keep those thoughts out of this. The last thing he wants in bed is a great giggling fool._

“There are flowers,” he kissed the very top of her spine, “And candlelight.” He licked the spot he just kissed. He brought his hand up to her side, moving carefully in case her ribs were ticklish. He slipped his fingers under the side hem, enjoying the smooth feel of her skin.

“But not,” she shivered in response to what he started doing with his hand after he moved it upward, “not the perfect first kiss.” She couldn’t remember the last time someone made her so breathless with anticipation.

“First kisses,” he said, moving his lips back to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, “Are rarely perfect.” He bit down gently, and yes, the same leg kicked out again. Fascinating. “But second kisses are often,” he moved up to her ear to lick the lobe for a moment, “quite a lot of fun.” He started kissing his way along her jaw.

She turned her head carefully to meet him. After just the barest of pauses, they came together gently for their second kiss. It remained well out of the realm of perfect, but it was definitely moving into the category of fun. Rupert knew how to kiss, and together, they began to learn just what the other liked.

*****

The door chime rang, and Buffy said, “Good. They’re here,” before walking over to the panel to greet her visitors. Spike didn’t get a chance to ask who was there before Data and Worf walked in. Carrying cards and poker chips.

“What’s this?” He tried to keep from twitching at the idea of playing poker. It was his favorite thing to do, right after Buffy, killing things and munching on a blooming onion. It had been too long since he sat in a game with Clem and the others, and it was all Buffy’s fault.

“Poker — and before you ask, we’re not playing for kittens,” she said as she moved the food to the side of the table.

“Kittens?” Data had paused at the word, uncertain that he understood her.

Spike answered, “Sunnydale demons use kittens for currency. Four’s not enough for a decent game.”

“I know. Deanna should be here soon. She said Riker might come along.” Buffy claimed the seat next to Spike, just to be certain she could stop his cheating before it got started. Spike glared at her, knowing full well why she sat where she did. But deep down, he was fighting a grin. She was, after all, sitting next to him.

The door chime rang again, and she called out, “Come in.”

*****

It was early the next day. Alpha shift had just started, and Picard was in the center seat, looking at Riker out of the corner of his eye. His first officer looked a bit worse for the wear following a night of poker with Buffy and Spike. He considered asking, but didn’t think the other man would appreciate the interest. Data, on the other hand, looked as fresh as he always did, and Deanna looked calmer than she had since before the Sunnydale group arrived.

“Incoming transmission from Kamembry, sir,” said the communications officer.

_Who is it this morning? Oh, yes._ “Thank you, Ensign Carriogh. On screen,” he said as he straightened his posture and tugged down on his uniform blouse. It was at moments like this that he really missed the one-piece uniform of earlier years.

“Madam —”

“How soon will you be here, Captain Picard?” The First Minister looked like hell. She was clearly exhausted, and she looked as if she’d been wearing the same thing since the last time they spoke.

Picard waited for Data to supply the answer. The android looked up and said, “Three hours, forty two minutes.”

She nodded, relieved that they would arrive a few hours earlier than anticipated, then said, “We are transmitting the landing coordinates for your shuttlecraft, Captain Picard.”

“Landing coordinates? I planned to use the transporter to get everyone to the planet,” he said with a slight frown.

“I doubt very much you will get the Chosen One and the Intercessor to agree to use your transporter,” she answered.

“What makes you say that?”

She held up a familiar-looking scroll and said, “Prophecy. Captain, one of them is a vampire, yes?”

“Er — yes,” he said, trying to keep up. She was almost as bad as Buffy when it came to sudden changes of topic.

“Please assure the corrupt one that he will survive our sunlight.”

“We already know that,” he said. At her questioning look, he added, “Mr. Giles — the Intercessor — asked us to look into the matter a few days ago.”

She nodded, then said, “Good. I’ll see you and the others planetside soon.”

“Soon, Madam. Picard out.” Picard waited, eyes forward, for Will to react. He didn’t wait long.

“What did she mean by that?”

“I’ll be joining them — and before you go off on how this is your duty, I would remind you that you don’t handle a blade all that well,” Picard answered, his eyes still forward. It would never do to allow Riker to see just how much he was looking forward to this adventure.

“Sir, you can’t go down there alone!”

“I won’t be. Data, Worf and Lieutenant Burns will be there as well,” he said decisively. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to see to before we reach Kamembry.”


	21. I Need A Hero

Buffy and Spike were in shuttle bay two, stuffing the shuttle with their — stuff. Buffy couldn’t understand it. She and Spike arrived with just the clothes on their back. Giles was a little better prepared when he showed up, but she knew for a fact that he only brought three bags. Oh yeah — there was the box Tara sent through. And yet she was maneuvering the sixth and final crate into the back of the shuttle. The Starfleet people had tried to help, but Buffy figured they’d get the packing done a lot faster if they didn’t have to work with those antigravity thingies.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?” He was trying to get clear of the crates well before Buffy boxed him in completely.

“Did you notice anything kind of — off about Giles this morning?”

“You mean the whole not-staking me when he found us asleep on the couch?” He inched his way past her, taking care not to let his duster get hung up on anything.

She looked up at him, a puzzled frown on her face and said, “Yeah. That.”

Spike looked at her carefully, trying to figure out if she was joshing him or if she really was that blind. “You do remember sending him off to get his jollies with Meg last night, don’t you?”

“I didn’t — geez, Spike. Make it sound a little more sordid. I just figured they would — not —!” She wanted to stomp her foot. She glared at Spike, convinced that he was somehow responsible.

“What’s the matter, pet? Jealous?” He didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk. She was just so predictable sometimes, it was all he could do not to laugh.

“Jealous? Of what? No! Of course not!” She turned suddenly to make a wholly unnecessary adjustment to one of the crates.

“So you’re not jealous that daddy’s got a new girl?” His smirk was turning into a grin with each passing moment.

She rolled her eyes, making her disgust with him clear. “Oh, please. Why would I be jealous?”

Spike happened to be looking out the shuttle door when Meg walked in. He looked down at Buffy and said, “Maybe ‘cause you’ve never looked like _her_ the mornin’ after.” At Buffy’s look of astonishment, he added, “I’m thinkin’ I should have a talk with Rupert. Find out what his secret is.”

“She looks even more blissed out than he did,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice. “If you get him to share, you have to promise to tell me what he says.”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Won’t tell. But I might show.”

She jabbed him hard with her elbow before leaving the shuttle to track everyone down.

*****

Buffy was stewing over the unfairness of it all. They’d finally reached the planet, but instead of getting to go outside and breathe the fresh air (okay, it wasn’t that fresh — hints of methane and sulfur did not make for a happy Buffy nose), she was stuck in the shuttle. All because the people she was supposed to be saving would get wigged if they saw the actual Chosen One. Worse still was that she was stuck in there alone. Spike, at least, could have stayed. She’d been in there for almost an hour now and was getting ready to storm the door when Giles finally came back. With a pile of leather.

“Um, Giles? What’s that for?” As she eyed the leather, she started to get a bad feeling about it.

“They’re for you and me to change into. Apparently what I chose to wear under my vestment was inappropriate,” he answered. There was just a hint of bitterness in his voice. She wondered briefly what he would have sounded like if he and Meg hadn’t had sex. Really _good_ sex.

The thought of Giles and sex wigged her out sufficiently that she reacted with more outrage than strictly necessary when she said, “There’s an actual wardrobe for this slayage?”

“Yes, there is. Now turn around so I can get dressed.”

“I’ll just leave —”

“You can’t. They’re still out there. Turn _around_, Buffy. Thank you,” he said from behind her. “Once I’ve completed the ceremony accepting the request for intercession, then you can come out. The ceremony shouldn’t take longer than, oh, twenty minutes or so. Also, I’ve had a chat with the First Minister. Turns out they’ve had a hellmouth open at some point in the last week or so. Some of the nastier varieties of demon have been showing up through it.”

“Great. So now we have to close another hellmouth?”

“Only partly. Once I invoke the goddess and you’re on your way with Data, the rest of us will go to the hellmouth, and I’ll change it to a one-way portal — make sure no more demons can come through.”

“Why not shut it down completely?”

“It’s what they plan to use to send us home,” he said. A quieter, “Blast it all to hell,” followed shortly thereafter.

“Problems?”

“Bloody pants don’t — oh. That’s how. Got it, now,” he answered.

“I still can’t believe there’s a big-ass demon — not to mention the smaller ones — munching down on the population, and they’re worried about how we’re dressed.” She admitted to a preoccupation with fashion, but not the point of ignoring death and destruction. She decided her outrage was justified.

“They’re concerned about following the prophecy —”

“But —”

“I’m finished dressing, now. I’ll send Meg for you once I’m done. Go ahead and get changed,” he said, leaving the shuttle before she could say anything else or even turn to see how he was dressed.

“Stupid portal. Stupid prophecy. Stupid Q,” she muttered as she began to sort through the items Giles left. As she held each piece up, her dismay grew. She was actually supposed to fight in these things? Well, not her. Sendaru. But still, the goddess had to be able to use her body well enough to move around in, right? There was no way. Absolutely none.

It was as well that Giles had a ceremony to finish up before she emerged. It took all that time just to get into the things the Kamallys had sent, and she still wasn’t sure she got it right. She heard a knock on the door just before Meg poked her head into the shuttle. “Buffy, Rupert says — good god, what the hell do they have you wearing!?”

Buffy looked up with a slightly twisted smile and said, “Rupert says all that? He hasn’t even seen me yet.”

“He’ll have a heart attack when he does. Are you sure that’s everything you’re supposed to wear?”

“Yep. Just call me Slutty, the Vampire Slayer,” Buffy said as she moved past Meg to get her first real look at the planet. She allowed herself a moment to consider with awe and wonder the fact that she was standing on a world that wasn’t her own. Then she started yelling. “Q, you son of a bitch! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bury you head first in a pile of Fyarl snot. You get your ass down here, you bastard, and explain yourself!”

“Buffy, what on earth are you — oh, dear lord!” Giles was appalled by what he saw her wearing. Even the outfits she used to wear in high school were better than — that. The Kamalfitin had made black, lace-up, thigh-high moccasins for Buffy to wear over hip-hugging black leather pants. The pants were tied off in the same complicated fashion as his own, but they weren’t really the worst part of the outfit. The top was little more than a black leather bra, and her breasts threatened to spill over the top of it. No wonder she was so angry. But why was she yelling at —

“Q? What’s he to do with this?” Picard, apparently unaffected by Buffy’s appearance, stepped up to her for an explanation.

She gestured to the outfit and said, “He’s the prick who wrote the prophecy. If you ask me, he was _way_ too influenced by the Anita Blake stories. I swear I’ll eviscerate him if I ever get my hands on him again.”

“Again? When did you meet him before?” Picard was angry.

“Yesterday morning. He stopped by during my workout. If I’d known he was going to dress me in this, I’d have done a lot more than punch him out,” she answered, still looking down at herself. The pants and boots weren’t half bad. They were definitely doable for down time at The Bronze. But the top? Geez. How Faith could a girl get?

“He was on my ship, and you didn’t see fit to tell me?” His voice was low and carried a threat, but Buffy ignored the warning signs.

“Buffy, what do you mean? What does this Q thing have to do with the w-way you’re d-dressed?” Giles had recovered enough from his initial shock at her appearance to be able to speak again. Spike was still doing a goldfish deal with his mouth. Worf thought she filled out the top nicely, but it was nothing compared to what Klingon women wore. Data merely recorded an image of Buffy and her feelings about the clothing, while Meg leaned against the shuttle and tried not to laugh.

Buffy answered Giles’ question first, saying, “He’s the one who wrote the prophecy.” She turned back to Picard and said, “And what good would it have done to say anything? He was there for maybe ten minutes.”

Picard answered before Giles could and said, “_Q_ wrote the prophecy? Then what the hell are we doing here?”

Buffy looked at him as though he’d suddenly lost all mental capacity. “Hello? Big demon on the loose? More and more little demons coming through the Kamallys’ brand-new hellmouth? Lots and lots of people getting killed? Is _any_ of this sounding familiar? It doesn’t matter who wrote the damn prophecy. The fact is that I can kill this thing — with the help of Sendaru — and probably save this world. None of those facts changed just because we happen to know who set everything in motion.”

“I don’t believe it. A human who actually grasps the big picture,” said Q, from his perch in one of the trees.

They turned as one to look at him, but this time Giles got the first word in. He said, “You look a great deal like Geoffrey Cantor.”

Buffy answered, “That’s because he _is_ Geoffrey Cantor. And how do you know what Geoffrey Cantor looks like?”

“There’s a portrait of him in the Hall of Watchers. How did you know —”

“There’s a Hall of Watchers? With portraits? What about the Slayers? Or don’t we count?”

“Did I say that? No. I didn’t. And of course there’s a Hall of Slayers,” he said, turning away from Q and Buffy to go over to a massive stone altar.

“How come my portrait’s not there?” She followed him to the altar, ignoring Q. Much though she wanted to kick his ass, there was no way it was happening. At least not that day.

“Who said it wasn’t?” He set a scroll down on the altar and started checking the various herbs he’d gathered together for the invocation.

“I go to all the trouble of responding to her demand that I appear, and now she ignores me,” Q said to Picard. He sounded mortally offended.

“What did she mean when she said _you_ wrote the prophecy they’re following?” Picard might not be able to intimidate the others, but he could, on occasion, intimidate Q. This was one of those moments.

“I never sat for a portrait, Giles. I would have remembered,” she said, her arms crossed in front of her.

“I realize that. I sent them your junior year picture,” he said absently. “Get up on the altar. We need to begin.”

She got up on the altar, but not quietly. She sounded a bit shrewish and whiney when she said, “My junior year picture!? I looked horrible that day! Remember? It was career day, and the Order of Taraka was after me. I had bed hair. and I was wearing that awful plaid shirt. Giles, _please_ tell me you didn’t send that picture in.” By the time she finished, she was almost in tears.

“What difference does it make? Honestly, Buffy. Where’s your sense of proportion?”

She arranged herself on the altar as they discussed and said, “Right where it’s always been. All I know is that when we get back to Sunnydale, you’re paying for a new portrait of me. And one of you and me together. And you, me and Dawn. And then I want one of you and Dawn.”

“And then me with each of the Scoobies, yes, I understand,” he said impatiently.

“No. Not them. Just you, me and Dawn,” she said quietly.

He looked up at her then, and realized at that moment just how deeply affected she’d been by their separation. He sighed at the thought of it, but really, it had been necessary. If he hadn’t gone, she would have never been prepared to deal with her life. He smiled and patted her knee, saying, “Very well. We’ll have our portraits taken by a photographer you trust. Happy now?”

“Do you see that, Jean-Luc? She’s still ignoring me,” Q said.

“You know something, Q? I think she has the right idea,” Picard said as he turned away and walked to the altar. Data had done a scan of it when they first landed. He said the stone had been laid some five thousand years earlier. The First Minister said it had been built with this day in mind, and had never been used until now. A pale orange moss clung to the seams between the stones and in the carvings that decorated the sides. The effect was both eerie and beautiful.

Giles turned to Picard when he approached, but said to the group at large, “Alright, everyone, places please. We can’t allow anything to interfere with the invocation, so if the lesser demons approach, kill them.” He was looking directly at Picard when he added, “Do _not_ attempt to engage in dialogue with them. They will only be interested in killing you.” Picard held Giles’ gaze for a long moment before he finally nodded in acceptance.

Giles turned back to Buffy, who was still sitting on the altar, and handed her a stiletto. She said, “Gee. Pretty heavy duty weapon to bring down a little bitty thing like a full demon. Are you sure this isn’t overkill?”

“Don’t be absurd, Buffy. The knife is blessed. You’ll use it to slice your palm open,” he said, exasperated with her. He checked the book again.

“And I want to cut myself because —” She left the sentence hanging the way her biology professor used to. She even used the same slightly snarky tone of voice.

“It’s up to you, but if you’d like me to survive this little exercise, I’ll have a better chance if you voluntarily spill blood to protect me and mark me as yours,” he snapped. He turned the book around and said, “Dip your finger into the blood, then use it to draw this symbol on my forehead. State my name, then announce that I’m your chosen Watcher. Add whatever threats you think appropriate to show that you’re serious about wanting me alive.”

“Appropriate threats?” Her eyebrows were raised as she toyed with the knife. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Yes. And they should be specific as well. I once heard Willow tell Anya she would break her knee caps with a hammer if she ever hurt Xander. That sort of thing,” he said.

“Really? I must rate over Xander then,” she said as she positioned the blade over her left palm. “She told Riley she’d beat him to death with a shovel if he hurt me.”

Giles watched her make a careful cut and said, “I don’t know that you need to tell Xander that.”

“Yeah. He’s got enough issues as it is,” she said somewhat absently as she watched her blood well up. She put the knife down then dipped her right index finger into the pooled blood. She raised her finger to Giles’ face and drew the symbol. A mischievous impulse took hold of her as she said, “Rupert Giles is my chosen Watcher. Let all who see this symbol on his forehead tremble in fear at my wrath should anything attack him. I will rip out the offender’s rib cage and use it as a magazine rack. I will tear off the offender’s head and use it as a jello mold. I will gut the offender, pulling out the entrails to use as curtain tie-backs. I will —”

“Th-that’s quite enough, I think,” Giles said, interrupting her when he felt a brief surge of energy. He was grateful the spell was completed before she could get any more graphic. As it was, he was fairly certain he would never again eat jello at her house. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

“Just wanted to be clear on the consequences,” she said, smothering a smirk at the look on Picard’s face following her chant. It was even better than the look he had when she was bitching about her junior year picture. She could tell he thought she was nuts for obsessing over inconsequential details, but she really didn’t care at this point. She’d spent a great deal time over the last few days firmly repressing anything remotely resembling doubt to let it show now. She and Giles — but really, all of them — needed to believe that she would come through the experience with flying colors. If they didn’t, if they started to wonder about her ability to survive or Giles’ ability to evict the goddess, they’d never be able to go through with it.

“Yes, yes. Fine,” Giles said, eager to end the discussion and move on. “Data, please move to Buffy’s right and slightly behind her. Once Sendaru is invoked, you will be the one to act as her guide and companion.”

“Er, Rupes?” Spike had finally regained the power of speech. Hadn’t been easy, especially since he knew just how close her nipples were to being exposed. He’d been a good little vampire over the last few days, but Buffy in leather had nearly undone him completely. And gods help him, her blood was making his mouth water.

“Yes?”

“Scroll said the soulless golden-eyed warrior was to be with her,” Spike said casually. At least it was as casual as possible, with Buffy bent forward slightly. Just a bit more and she’d —

“Yes, it did.” Giles frowned at Spike and said, “Given that you’re a vampire, I felt it safer to send Data with her. I rather thought you would appreciate my concern for your undead arse.”

“Oops,” Buffy said, looking a bit guilty underneath her blush.

“Oops, what?” Giles was ordinarily a patient man, but he had the distinct feeling that Buffy was about to destroy that patience.

“Spike told me but I forgot to mention it and really I didn’t think it was that big a deal but that’s because I hadn’t really read up on the prophecy and if you had been on the ball yourself you would have said something —”

“Buffy!”

“Data has a soul. Sorry,” she said in a very small voice. It was all she could do to stop from asking Giles if he still loved her.

Spike walked over to Data and clapped him on the back, saying, “Looks like you’re with the Watcher, mate.”

Data, however, wasn’t moving. He was too busy processing what he had just been told. Unfortunately, the processing wasn’t working all that well. He looked at Picard. Had he been human, his expression would have been troubled. As it was, the best he could manage was puzzled. He said, “Sir?”

Picard had no answers, but given the way Giles accepted Buffy’s statement on the matter, it was clear he accepted it as true. He gave Data a helpless look, unable to say anything, because Giles had begun to speak again. “Data, please move away to make room for Spike. Thank you. Buffy, you’ll —”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get started, okay?” She settled herself into the lotus position and watched Giles, waiting for him to begin.

He stood in front of her, his arms spread wide and a mild look of embarrassment on his face. His robe gaped open, showing the distinct lack of a shirt to go with his pretty leather pants. She arched an eyebrow at him and nearly lost it when a blush bloomed rosily on his cheeks. His glare dared her to speak, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything. “Vessel of Sendaru, I beg you,” he began, “The Kamalfitin have a need greater than all the world. Will you come to their aid?”

“Sure,” she said, grinning at the look on his face. It was his own fault for following a script.

He gave her an aggrieved look before saying, “Now that the formalities have been taken care of, it’s time for you to find your center. Will you be able to concentrate during all the chanting?”

“Yeah. Not sure about the incense, though. Even unlit, it’s making me want to sneeze,” she said.

“It can’t be helped, I’m afraid.” He squeezed her knee lightly and said, “Right then. Time to get on with it.”

As Giles began the ritual, he tuned everything out, trusting the others to keep them safe until Sendaru was fully realized in this universe. The magic he was calling, both from within and from without, would no doubt attract a great deal of the wrong kind of attention. He could only hope the Kamalfitin would keep the bulk of the lesser demons away from them. His magic rose easily, and he felt a twinge of unease. If it rose this quickly under stress, he would have a difficult time of it in the days ahead as he continued to regain control of it. “Sendaru, I beg you to answer,” he said at the right moment. He had gone over the invocation several times with an eye to making it less obnoxious. There was no need to antagonize her before she ever arrived, so rather than command her, he implored her. Deeper into the ceremony, he finally started to hit the outer edges of his power, and a light sheen of sweat covered him as he exerted himself to reach that final phase of the spell.

Buffy lost track of where Giles was spell-wise. She had found her center and was busy raising a wall around it. She wanted it to be perfectly clear to the goddess that this was Buffy’s territory. She was willing to share for a little while, but at the end of it all, Miss Black Mist 2002 was getting the hell out of town. Her skin tingled as she heard bits and pieces of the invocation. She identified the cause as Giles’ magic, and she realized that it and the spell were reaching a fever pitch. Just as she put the last brick in place to complete the wall around her center, she heard Giles scream, “SENDARU, COME!”

Buffy opened her eyes to see the first tendril of black mist curl around Giles’ chest. She glared at it, but it did nothing more than test his boundaries. When it reached the symbol on his forehead, she saw the dried blood flare brightly before going back to its brownish color. And then the mist curled toward her. She steeled herself not to react and waited. When it touched her arm, it felt ice cold for a moment, and then it burned. She clenched her jaw against the pain and waited for the goddess to start coming in.

When she felt the first tendrils of an alien conscious, she sent out a thought: _I’m not giving up my body. When the time comes for you to leave, you leave. Got it?_ She thought she felt a vague sense of assent, but no more than that. It would have to do. Buffy retreated into her tower and waited.

Giles had broken into a cold sweat when Sendaru tested his defenses. He hadn’t been entirely certain the goddess would acknowledge Buffy’s right to offer her protection, and he’d been thankful when she had. He watched as Sendaru hesitated slightly at Buffy’s arm, then jerked in horror as the mist lost all tentativeness and engulfed Buffy’s slight form. When the mist disappeared, what was left was a woman with black hair. Violet eyes glared at Giles, promising death if he made one wrong move.

Sendaru was in the house.


	22. A Moment In Time

You’re an incorporeal god of non-specific origin and non-specific gender. You’ve been around almost since the dawn of time — or certainly since well before time was ever a concept — and you have exactly one thing you’re good at. You’re not just good, though, you’re the numero uno, supreme, all-time champion. What do you do so well? You kick evil’s ass — you wipe the floor with it. So you’re wandering along, minding your own business, and you happen upon a smallish planet in the ass-end of the universe. Normally, you’d pass it by without a second thought, but hey! There’s evil on that thar planet. You could no more resist stopping there than a Republican could pass up the chance to offer more tax breaks to the wealthy or Cordelia Chase could pass up a deal on a Prada bag.

You stop for one or two thousand millennia and have a hell of a good time. There’s more concentrated evil on this world than you ever imagined possible, and it’s all yours to do with as you please. The thing is, though, that after a while, you realize the evil never really stops coming. Sure, you’ve gotten rid of most of the worst of it, but there are little swamplands of evil, places where it bubbles up from the lower regions as if the planet were vomiting it. You start to get tired of it all. You wonder if there’s a point to any of this. You don’t, however, understand just what it is that you’ve really accomplished. Because of you, speciation has managed to flourish at long last. Beings other than those of pure evil are starting to crawl along the face of this odd little world, but they’re too far beneath you to make much of an impact on your consciousness. Do humans ever really notice the mites that live on their pillow cases and bed sheets, feeding on dead skin cells that are shed without thought? No. Of course not.

But one day, some of the mites get together and start chatting about the state of evil in the world. You don’t realize this, of course. Aside from the fact that you don’t know they’re there, you’re too far into a blue funk over what, exactly, you should be doing with yourself. As you wander along the surface of the world, you pay very little attention to what’s going on around you. You’re aware that there’s one last major demon to chase away, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’re just too depressed about this little rut you’ve gotten stuck in. You’re so far into your own thoughts that it takes a while to realize that you’re no longer drifting according to your own whim. Instead, you’re being pulled in a direction that holds no interest for you. And it’s not as if there’s _any_ direction that holds any kind of allure for you, but that particular direction irritates you, because you’re being forced to go there.

No matter how you twist and turn, you’re no closer to escape than you were before. Ultimately, you find yourself in one of the underground places, and for the first time, you notice the mites — but they’ve left mitehood behind. You recognize them as beings of power, and you’re certain that if you’d been paying attention to begin with, they never would have captured you the way they did. As you continue to struggle, you recognize that a fourth being is struggling just as hard as you are. You spare a thought to try and determine why this fourth is different from the other three, and the concept of gender makes itself known to you. Up until that moment, you had no gender. Now, however, trapped and flailing against your bindings, you decide that you, too, must be female.

The others — male — continue making noise, and you are forced closer and closer to the one who is as trapped as you are. You’re not afraid, but you discover a deep and abiding anger that will never abate as long as you have your memories. Eventually, you are forced into the female, and you know pain for the first time in your long existence. When you’re finally allowed to depart, you barely notice that a piece of your essence is missing.

Because you nurse your anger, it’s eons before you realize that you aren’t as complete as you once were. The piece that’s missing isn’t large. It isn’t really significant. At most, it’s the tip of a finger. But that tip is yours and yours alone, so you go looking for it. One day, you find it. It’s in a female — not the same female you met before, but a different one. You try to communicate with her — tell her to give you back that piece that belongs to you — but she doesn’t understand. Rather, she’s terrified. One night, you go to her in her dreams to try one last time, but instead of listening, she wakes up screaming and runs. She keeps running until she finds a cliff and starts falling.

Her reaction to your reasonable demand gives you pause. You start to wonder why she was so frightened. She wasn’t evil, that much is certain. Yet she reacted to you the way the evil ones did. You’re perplexed, not only by the suicide, but by your sorrow at the death. It’s then that you notice the piece of you the girl held is no longer with her body. It fled, possibly at the moment of death. Eventually, you locate it again. It’s in another girl, but this time, you don’t approach her. You simply watch for a time, confused by what _isn’t_ happening. There’s no discernible reason for this girl to have that piece of you inside her, yet if you try to retrieve it again, she may kill herself as the other one did. It galls you, but you choose to leave it be. The girl is innocent, and you already have an innocent’s blood on your conscience. You think about leaving the planet, but you don’t. Though you won’t retrieve that bit of yourself, you won’t leave it behind, either. There’s always the chance that it will be set free one day. When that day comes, you can recapture it and be on your way again.

More eons pass. Memory of your time in the cave fades, but it never goes away entirely. You sometimes see a girl who carries a portion of your essence within, but you keep your distance. None of the girls are evil, though they hold that which was stolen from you. The real thieves were men, and occasionally, you give into temptation and torture a particularly vile specimen. It isn’t until you feel yourself being bound that your anger flares brighter and hotter than ever before. You swore this wouldn’t happen again, yet here you are, being dragged somewhere against your will.

There’s another girl, and she’s just as terrified as the first one. But you realize she isn’t as afraid of you as she is of the man standing in front of her. As you’re brought closer and closer, you realize the bindings are somewhat different this time. When you’re forced into the girl, there isn’t any pain. You consider it for a moment and realize it’s because nothing is cutting away at you again. After you find yourself embodied — truly embodied this time — you discover that portion of yourself which was missing for so very long. You snatch it up and prepare to depart, but you’re not permitted. You’re told there is a full demon on the loose. Impossible, you think. The last one was dispatched — but then you catch its scent. The male thing, the man, was right. There _is_ a full demon, and it’s up to you to fight it. You look for the girl inside and find her cowering in a corner of her mind. When you try to talk to her, she flees, leaving you alone in the body. No matter. The demon must be killed, and the body can withstand the effort.

After the demon is dead, you try to leave the body, but you can’t. Not quite. That little piece of you refuses to come along. Maddened, you decide everything which is wrong is the fault of men. You tear through village after village, decimating the male population. You don’t kill all the males, but you kill enough to make your point. This goes on until one day, you feel a tug in a particular direction. You recognize the feel of the pull. _That’s_ the man you really want to kill. You’ve rifled through the girl’s memories and know them as well as you know your own. The male violated her continually, with word, deed and emotion. _He_ was the reason she had nightmares. _He_ was the reason she was forced to go into the dark, night after night, to fight the evil that still roamed the earth. _He_ was the reason she fled as soon as you entered her.

You follow the tug willingly. It pleases you to consider what you will do to the man who offered corruption to an innocent. When you find him, he attempts to cast you out of the body he so thoughtlessly forced you into. You laugh for a time at the expression on his face when you start removing his fingers. Such wriggly dark things that spurt such bright red blood. The blood is warm, and you bathe in it as you tear the man limb from limb. You think of your power and how best to use it. You decide to keep him alive for several moments after you rip his heart out. You want him to be aware of what’s happening when you bite into it and enjoy his lifeforce adding to your own. It doesn’t make up for the theft, but it provides a measure of solace.

When the deed is done, and the man is dead, you run off, confident that no one else will capture you again. For a time, you take joy in the hunt again. You find the debased ones and banish them with stake and flame. Every so often, you hear words on the wind, and they seem to mean you. You’ve heard them before, but now you pay attention. The men have named you. They call you Sendaru, and they offer prayers to you. You think this is a good thing. It’s right and proper for them to abase themselves in your name.

It isn’t long, though, before you grow tired of this particular game. You try one last time to capture that elusive bit of yourself, but it will not rejoin you. Finally, you give up and depart the body. It decays within moments, and that small, insignificant portion that belongs to you goes flying in a different direction. You watch it leave with a certain amount of resignation. It’s been separate from you for too long to be able to return. It has developed an affinity for certain girls and runs to them whenever the previous one dies. However, rather than ignore them as you have done for so long, you decide to watch them. You realize that when a new girl receives your strength, a man comes to find her. Many of the men should die, but as time goes on, more and more become helpful to the girls. They teach them to fight, they provide assistance and care. You still disapprove of the men, but you allow the relationships to continue, as they seem to help the girls stay alive longer.

Not long ago, another girl died. Something different happened, though. A man came to her after her death — after your strength fled to the next girl — and he breathed life back into her. You were shocked at such an occurrence — it had never happened before. You thought of your essence, realizing that had fled, and it would not return to her. Yet the child had work to finish, so you acted quickly. At the girl’s second breath of her second life, you broke off a second bit of your essence, and put it into the girl. It was a slightly larger piece than the other one, but you didn’t think the girl would object to the extra strength. You decided to stay near enough to watch her.

This memory goes through your mind as you relive the girl’s second death. When that happened, your essence returned to you, for you willed it to be so. You didn’t expect that she would return to life once more, and when you found her still under the ground, you gave her a slightly bigger portion of your energy than you had the last time. You think she will need it — she could have returned for a third life only if the ones greater than you permitted it. You continue to watch her, and find yourself appalled that she would willingly allow corruption to touch her. You’re confused by her conflicting emotions, and when you go off to think about it one day, you don’t realize she might not be there when you return.

It’s then that you hear the third call. It’s different than the other two. The man doesn’t demand, he cajoles. He begs. He flatters. He implores. You can tell he’s near the female who went missing, so you’re inclined to follow his voice. His magic doesn’t bind you so much as it offers to carry you along. You accept the ride, unsure of how you should feel about this turn of events. You consider eviscerating the man as soon as you see him, but then you notice the blessing of the girl’s blood. When you touch it, you realize that it’s a gift of love. The girl loves this man and would protect him from any that would harm him, including you, the source of her power and strength. As you listen to the words more closely, you understand what is being asked of you, and you accede to the request. When you touch the girl’s arm, she makes it clear that you are not welcome to stay any longer than necessary to kill the demon. You agree, pleased that she is willing to retain possession of her body.

She steps aside.

You enter.

*****

Giles watched Sendaru with all the care he would watch a cobra on the loose. She didn’t look happy to be there, and he had a feeling that if it weren’t for Buffy’s claim on him, he would at that very moment be losing body parts. He thought about what he should do or say, and he decided on a conciliatory tone. He had no objections to abasing himself if it meant that everyone would emerge from the meeting alive and intact. He bowed deeply, and said, “My lady goddess, I thank you for answering our pleas for aid.”

He tried not to yelp too loudly when she grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head up so she could look him in the eyes. He fell into that violet gaze without a whimper — despite the fact that he very much wanted to scream out in protest. Sendaru compelled him to give up his thoughts to her, and he found himself reliving every moment of his life. He didn’t mind remembering being back in the womb, but he could have done without reliving birth. She spared him nothing. He remembered the love and warmth he felt at his mother’s teat, and he remembered the outrage he felt when his diaper was soiled. He remembered looking into his father’s eyes and understanding for the first time that the man loved him with a depth equal to his mother’s.

Sendaru took him through his past, lingering over an incident in primary school, when a bully humiliated him thoroughly by pulling down his pants on the school playground. She paused at the conversation his father had with him when he was ten. She was faintly amazed to discover that the child had no more say in his destiny than did the girl, Buffy. She followed him through his years in public school, taking care to linger on his most painful memories. Though he hadn’t forced her cooperation, he was, nonetheless, guilty by association to those who went before him. As payback went, it was minor, especially since she came very close to ignoring the girl’s wishes when she came across his memories of raising Eyghon.

Giles thought she might kill him, despite Buffy’s mark. He resigned himself to the probability of it and hoped only that she would leave Buffy’s body once the demon was dispatched. It was his acceptance of responsibility, of cause and effect, that stayed Sendaru. Clearly, he had moved past the raising of demons, else the girl never would have come to love him as she did. She left off the memories of Eyghon and followed him to the Watcher’s Council. These memories taught her all that she’d been curious about. Now she understood why the men did what they did. Now she understood the faint chants on the wind. She narrowed her eyes when she realized it had been a while since prayers were offered up to her.

At the sight of someone else directing Buffy’s glare at him, Giles nearly lost his will to continue the fight. It wasn’t right, allowing something to take over Buffy’s body. They could have found something else — anything else — to stop the demon. Sendaru absorbed that thought about the same time she absorbed his memory of the Cruciamentum. She wasn’t so quick to judge this time, thinking rightly that he was too complex to accept his memories at face value. He still felt guilt and remorse over his role in the matter. Even now. She found his time as a Fyarl demon to be moderately amusing and considered locating the other male to mete out justice. It could be her way of acknowledging the man’s —

_Giles. His name is Giles,_ came a thought from deeper within the body. Sendaru paused in her examination and turned her attention to the girl. _My name is Buffy, and I left girlhood behind when I got my first period. I’m a woman._

_Buffy,_ thought Sendaru.

_That’s right. Now are you done dragging my Watcher’s life through my brain? ‘Cause if so, there’s a demon to fight,_ thought Buffy.

_Corruption behind us there is,_ Sendaru reminded her.

_Yeah, yeah. Spike’s the big bad. Or so he wants us to think. Truthfully? I’m not sure he’s got it in him these days. Anyway, he’s as off-limits as Giles is,_ explained Buffy.

_Defilement destroy you must!_ Sendaru was offended by Buffy’s unwillingness to stake the vampire.

_Geez. You sound like Yoda. Look, Spike’s a vampire, I know. But he helped me. See?_ Buffy showed Sendaru her memories after emerging from the grave to discover she’d been torn from heaven. She let the goddess experience her own conflicting emotions of her time with Spike. Maybe she could figure it out, since Buffy wasn’t able. All she knew was that however bad her time with Spike was, there had usually been a matching good time. It all sort of balanced out in the end, but the most important part was that Spike kept her going during the hardest part of the post-resurrection blues.

Buffy could feel Sendaru’s resistance to the notion that not all evil was strictly — evil. If nothing else, Spike was proof of that concept. She just hoped she’d be able to convince the goddess to leave him alone. Meanwhile, _Could you let go of Giles? You’re hurting him._

*****

Nothing had come into the clearing during the rituals, so Data was able to record everything, including the possession of Buffy Summers, Chosen One. The hair and eye color change had been fascinating, and he looked forward to reviewing the science of it all. He stepped forward when Sendaru grabbed Giles by the hair, but she released him just a moment later.

Giles straightened himself up and said, “Ow,” as he rubbed his scalp.

Sendaru stood on the altar and held out her hand as she concentrated on something. Within moments, a sword appeared in her fist. Spike jumped slightly, though he called himself all kinds of a fool for doing so. It was just that he remembered quite clearly the fact that Buffy had rather carefully packed it away. She hadn’t wanted to risk losing her favorite blade on an alien world.

The goddess raked her glance across all of them before turning and saying, “Spike! Come!”

“I’m not your soddin’ lap dog,” he said with a scowl.

She was on him faster than he could imagine, with Buffy’s hand wrapped as far around his throat as she could manage. “To dust, says Buffy not. Corruption to come _will_! Itself prove worthy will,” she hissed into his ear. She yanked on his throat one last time for good measure, then headed into the jungle to track the demon.

Spike gave everyone a last look then said, “Been good knowin’ you, Rupes. See you in hell.” He turned and followed Sendaru.


	23. Riders On The Storm

Giles watched Spike disappear into the rather gaudy vegetation and said, “Well. That was certainly — horrifying.” His voice broke slightly on the last word.

Meg approached him and said, “I won’t disagree, but you heard what she said.”

“What?” He looked at her in confusion.

“She said Buffy told her not to dust Spike. It means she’s still in there. Still aware, right?”

Meg ran a soothing hand down Rupert’s arm, encouraging him to see the good in it. He gave her a brief smile, acknowledging the sense of what she was saying. Then his eyes widened as he stared off into the distance. Suddenly, he made a dive for the knife on the altar, snatching it up to throw it hard. He perhaps gave himself a bit of a magical boost to ensure its aim was true — it was the only explanation he could come up with for the fact that it landed dead center of the forehead of the Korvash demon that was trying to sneak up on them.

He eyed the perimeter of the clearing to make sure there were no other visitors and said, “I think it’s time to change into clothing more suitable to combat. I personally have no desire to clean demon gore out of this robe.”

No one noticed when Q snapped his fingers and disappeared. He was a bit miffed about that when he looked behind to see that they were more interested in their own safety than they were in his existence. He considered dropping in on Sendaru, but she struck him as the kind of deity who had absolutely no sense of humor. There was no sense in antagonizing her, especially when he was uncertain of just how strong she really was. He decided to drop in on his other little project before heading back to the Continuum.

Picard, Worf and Data went over to the demon to catalogue it for the Federation database. Data took sensor readings and shared with the others, “There appear to be venom sacs at the base of each claw. The venom itself is an alkaloid I have not seen before. Curious. The ridges on its back are outgrowths of the spine. There is no discernible reason for the horns on its temple.”

Worf said, “Why is its blood orange?”

“There is a high sulfur content — hold, Worf,” Data said as he adjusted his tricorder. “The blood base is sulfuric acid.”

“Explains why it burns like mad whenever it splatters,” said Giles as he came up from behind them. “Really, gentlemen. It’s time to change into whatever you people wear for combat. We need to get to the hellmouth.”

Picard nodded and said, “Worf, Data. Get your things. Meg? You’ll change in the shuttle?”

“If you insist, Captain, but we’re not that fussy on Glenmorangie. Separation of the genders was never that popular with us, even before the plagues,” she said. She was startled by the brief glower that appeared on Rupert’s face; she didn’t think he was the jealous type. Judging by the sheepish look that immediately followed, she’d be willing to bet he didn’t think so either.

He stammered slightly when he said, “Yes. Well. I’ll just —”

“Rupert, I do have something for you in the shuttle,” Meg said. She bent her head slightly to whisper in his ear, “You can think of it as my version of a bouquet of flowers the morning after.” It was all she could do not to giggle at the blush on his face as she tugged him toward the shuttle. She was firmly of the opinion that a woman of her stature and rank should never giggle. In public, at any rate. In private with Rupert, giggling was damn near mandatory.

She was still reflecting on it when she pulled the package out from its hiding place. “I didn’t know what to get for the man who has everything, so I asked Buffy,” she said, handing him the package. “She suggested this. I hope you like it.”

“Buffy? When did you have a chance to speak to her?” Giles knew he was still blushing, but that was partly due to a few new ideas he had about what he and Meg could do together. He thought she might be willing to give it a go — she was fairly adventurous, after all — but there was always that bit of uncertainty. He rather firmly ignored the fact that if all went as expected, there would be no more chances for the two of them.

“This morning, just after she and Spike finished loading your things into the shuttle. We had a lovely chat, she and I,” Meg said.

“About what, precisely?” Giles had a sudden premonition that he would never again be without a blush in Buffy’s presence. Meg had a tendency to be extremely forthright about pretty much everything in her life. And if Buffy decided to ask how things went the night before, he had no doubt that Meg would —

“You, mostly. She wanted to know why I looked so — does the phrase ‘blissed out’ sound right?” At his nod, she continued, “I told her celibacy makes sex all the sweeter when you finally get ‘round to it again. And that’s _all_ I told her, you great git. I’m not a complete idiot.”

He looked at Meg for a moment, guilt plain on his face, then said, “I apologize. I should have trusted you.”

She gave him a cheerful grin and said, “No you shouldn’t. It was sheer luck I even considered your relationship with her and realized I should probably keep my mouth shut. Now open your present before I get all atwitter with anticipation.”

He snorted at the thought of Meg _ever_ being anything close to “Atwitter” and carefully unwrapped the package. It was clothing. It was black clothing. He gave a very small sigh and wondered why it was that the women in his life had suddenly decided he should dress in black. He held it up and realized it was a kind of jumpsuit. He cocked his head, frowning slightly as he tried to determine why Buffy would suggest something like this. As far as he could tell, jumpsuits for men were still very much out. “Meg?”

“It’s body armor. You wear it over skin, not clothing. It will mold itself to you and give you a fighting chance to survive whatever’s thrown at you. There’s nanotechnology in the fabric. If you’re injured, the nanites will clean and close up your wounds. Given the number of beasties you fight that have claws, it seemed like a sensible gift,” she said a bit anxiously. He still wasn’t reacting the way she’d hoped. She continued, “I was going to have Buffy give it to you when you got home, but after what I just saw, I think you can put it to better use today.”

He didn’t know what to say. For that matter, he didn’t know that he could say anything with such a big lump in his throat. No one had ever given him a gift like this before. Certainly, this type of body armor wasn’t available in Sunnydale — or anywhere on their world — but Meg had thought about the best thing to give him and made an effort to find out. The gift of protection was no small thing. He pulled her to him to give her a long, deep kiss and broke it off just before it could get too interesting. He said, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Giving her butt a nice, firm squeeze, he added, “Get changed, Meg, before I forget myself entirely,” then he left the shuttle with his prize in hand.

*****

“Data?” Picard had changed into his combat fatigues before approaching his second officer.

“Yes, Captain?” Data had not yet finished changing into his combat fatigues. Picard thought he must have been distracted by some interesting species of flora, as Data was naked and staring at his tricorder when he found him.

“Er — are you planning to finish getting dressed at some point?” Picard was fighting back a blush, calling himself an idiot for being embarrassed about seeing the android naked. Clearly, Data was not self-conscious about it, so neither should he be. And yet he found himself amazed at the level of hubris Dr. Soong had achieved to make Data so — well-endowed.

“I beg your pardon, Captain. I happened to notice that the leaves on this plant are similar to the Tarkellian rose. I wished to see if they are also coated with a poisonous oil,” Data said, calmly putting down his tricorder and reaching for his fatigues. It had been somewhat inconvenient, this need to change, but it was very clear that the Molvedane expected their saviors to follow the formalities to the letter. That meant that _Enterprise’s_ crew members had to arrive in full dress uniform for the welcoming ceremony and ritual request for aid. Worf had been the one to suggest earlier in the day that they take combat uniforms with them, just in case. Given the news they received after landing, everyone had reason to be thankful for the Klingon’s forethought.

“Will the leaves be a problem?” Picard asked as he ostensibly studied the bush in question. The real reason was to give himself a reason to give Data privacy to finish dressing.

“Yes, but they are not as toxic as the Tarkellian rose is. They will cause a rash in humans and festering sores on a Klingon. I do not know what the effect would be on a vampire,” Data said as he sealed the fatigues. They were made of the same kind of fabric as the jumpsuit Meg gave Giles, but they also had camouflage technology built in. The fatigues would blend into the background wherever they found themselves. Data held up the head unit, designed to give the wearer maximum coverage and asked, “Should we wear the hood?”

Picard shook his head and told him, “No. I doubt it would do much good in any event. Mr. Giles seems to think that the — demons — will see us with senses other than their eyes.”

Data nodded his agreement and put the hood away. He was about to step away when he felt Picard’s hand on his elbow.

“Data, I wanted to speak to you about what Buffy said earlier,” Picard started, uncertain how to proceed.

“Sir?” Data tilted his head slightly as he waited for clarification.

“The matter of your soul,” Picard said.

“Oh. That,” Data said, his voice different in some slight, indefinable way.

Picard recognized the change in Data’s tone. Uncertain what it meant, he said, “Yes. That. I thought perhaps you might wish to talk about it.”

“I do, Captain, but I do not believe the timing is auspicious,” he answered.

“Perhaps not, but it may well be necessary.”

“I do not believe so. If, in fact, I have a soul, it has been there all along.” In a curious echo of Buffy’s earlier speech, Data said, “The only difference is that we now know that it exists. That knowledge will not affect the way I perform my duties.”

“I know that,” Picard answered with a touch of impatience. “But I also know that it’s a question that has haunted you for quite some time.”

Data raised his eyebrows at Picard’s rather poetic description of his mild obsession, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he replied, “Indeed. I did not expect to get an answer from individuals who have no clear grounding in theology. Despite Mr. Giles’ formal title, I am under the impression that religion holds little interest for him.”

“I agree. But I just wanted to know how you —” Picard stopped, frustrated with the language. It was all about emotional response, but Data had none. So really, how could he ask how —

“I do not know how I ‘feel’, Captain,” Data said, correctly surmising the reason for Picard’s inability to continue his thought. He had been around humans and other emotionally endowed species long enough to recognize what the stumble meant. “If I had emotional awareness, I suspect I might be afraid. I might also be angry.”

“Angry? Why?” Picard was confused by Data’s answer. It was the first time he could recall him saying anything that indicated something other than a placid acceptance of what life had thrown at him. Always before, he had denied any possibility of ever experiencing a negative emotion.

“I have spoken with a great many theologians on a number of worlds in an attempt to find out if it was possible that I had a soul,” Data said. At Picard’s nod of recognition, he continued, “Of them all, only a discredited vedic on Bajor gave me any hope of having a — spiritual — side. The others, without fail, told me that as an artificial lifeform, I had no soul, because my existence was not sanctioned by a deity.”

“I knew you were having trouble finding answers, Data, but I had no idea you were experiencing such hostility,” Picard said, his face reflecting his own anger at the injustice of it.

“That hostility was the reason I stopped looking for an answer six months ago. It became clear to me that I would not find anyone to help me in my quest,” he said.

Despite the fact that he knew better than to assign emotion to Data’s comments, Picard was convinced that he could hear despair in his words. He wanted to hear hope, so he asked, “What about the vedic?”

Data looked down before turning his gaze to Picard again. “She committed suicide not long after responding to my query. I found out when I attempted to contact her for clarification of her thoughts,” he said softly.

Picard looked faintly sick when he said, “I’m so sorry.”

“As was I. However, now that I have been told I _do_ have a soul, I can again take up my quest for spiritual growth. If there is time, I will speak with Mr. Giles and ask for suggestions,” Data said. He turned again to walk back to the shuttle, making it clear that he was finished discussing the matter.

*****

An ops team consisting of five security officers, two witches and a sorcerer approached the house with care. The witches and sorcerer joined minds to search for magical traps and triggers. It took two hours to dismantle everything they found without triggering any alarms, but they were in no particular hurry. Their quarry wasn’t going anywhere. Once the magical traps were rendered inoperative, they sought out physical traps and trip wires. There were a number of them, but all were easily bypassed. The witches and sorcerer remained outside for the rest of the operation. They would be needed to prevent last-minute summonings, but none of the three was trained in physical combat.

The security officers, however, were very well trained indeed. Each had survived demonic and magical battles, and each was able to inflict fatal wounds without weaponry. They had retrieved the blueprints to the house from the town records and knew where the obvious entrances were. One of the witches, however, had detected a warding spell in the basement, and it seemed to indicate a hidden escape route. Two spells later, they found a tunnel that ran from the basement to the sewer system. A back-up ops team waited down below, in case their quarry tried to run in that direction.

For all the effort they went to, they needn’t have bothered. They gained entry to the house with remarkable ease and found the three miscreants arguing over one of the finer points of Dungeons and Dragons. The trio were surrounded before they ever realized their defenses had been breached.

The leader of the primary team said, “In the name of the Watcher’s Council, you are hereby ordered to England to stand trial in the matter of your mystical crimes against humanity. You are charged with opening an unauthorized portal between dimensions. You are charged with transporting a Champion to another dimension, thereby rendering humans and other creatures vulnerable to evil. You are charged with —”

Warren looked up in disbelief and said, “What? You don’t have any jurisdiction here. And what’s with the charges? None of that is against the law. I checked. Stop pointing that gun at me —” He stopped speaking when one of the security officers shot him with the tranquilizer gun in question. He fell forward in slow motion, knocking over his can of Coke.

Eyes wide open as they stared first at Warren’s motionless form and then at the grim men and women in black who surrounded them, Jonathan and Andrew raised their hands as one. Jonathan asked, “Do we get a phone call?”

*****

For once, Dawn had gone to bed early, despite how anxious she was about Buffy, Spike and Giles, now that the portal was sealed. She’d been so angry when Tara told her about it after school. She wanted to track down the coven that wanker Travers had hired, but both Willow and Tara told her she couldn’t. They also told her the reasons for shutting the portal were good — that leaving a doorway like that open for too long in the presence of the Hellmouth could only lead to dangerous things coming through. They were certain the others would find a way home, because otherwise what they knew of the prophecy wouldn’t make sense.

Dawn was only slightly mollified by their logic. She’d survived without Buffy once before, but she’d had the Buffy-bot to help ease her pain. With the ‘bot in a gazillion pieces, she would be completely alone if Buffy didn’t return. She never once considered the possibility of moving in with her father.

It was with those disturbing thoughts running through her mind that she fell asleep. At first, her dreams were of the normal Hellmouth variety, though this evening’s ketchup bottles were filled with a fluorescent green goo. A subtle change took place, however, and she soon found herself in a place with a purple sky and bright red trees. She was standing at the edge of a clearing, right next to Spike, looking at a woman with black hair and violet eyes. It took a moment for her to recognize _Buffy!_

Dawn briefly wondered why Spike didn’t jump the way he usually did when she shrieked, but she was more interested in the change in her sister’s physical appearance. Buffy said, _Dawnie, what are you doing here?_

_Dreaming, I think. Hey! You’re not moving your lips! And what’s with the new hooker look?_

_I’m not exactly in the driver’s seat at the moment,_ Buffy said. _I’m along for the ride this time around._

_Cool. So am I having a prophetic dream?_ Dawn was all but bouncing at the possibilities.

Another voice said, _No. Key not to having dreamtime. Here be to help will._

_Help? No way. Dawn’s not fighting anything,_ Buffy said.

_Um, Buffy? Who are you talking to?_ Dawn didn’t like the tone of Buffy’s voice. It was the same one she used whenever she had anything to say about Glory.

_Key-power available. Is right Sendaru’s to use,_ said the other.

_NO! I won’t let you kill her!_ Dawn heard the rage in her sister’s voice, but didn’t see it on her face. She started to wonder what Buffy meant when she said she wasn’t in the driver’s seat.

_Not to little girl be killing. Need presence only unlocking to be hell door,_ answered the other. Dawn thought it meant she wasn’t going to have to die, but she wasn’t certain.

_How?_ How _will you use her to unlock the door to hell?_ Buffy sounded really, _really_ tense.

_Dawn-child to entrance stand near will. Essence open and close to will door. Done so has before. Do so will again,_ said the other nonchalantly.

_I’m_ your _Key,_ Dawn said.

The other simply said, _Yes. Dawn-girl follow to will. Sendaru Key use will as ever. Then child to home go will._

Buffy said, _She’ll go home right after? She’ll be safe?_

_Only Sendaru —_

_Use the word ‘I’ when you’re talking about yourself,_ interrupted Buffy.

_‘I’? Yes. I only use Key can. Key to be safe must. Will home to return task with done when,_ agreed Sendaru. _Buffy Slayer death vain in not. Sister-child living done when. Key-energy safe done when._

_Buffy?_ Dawn looked for some sign on her sister’s face, despite the fact that it had remained impassive during the strange three-way conversation.

_I don’t know, Dawnie. She says you’ll be okay —_ Buffy sounded miserable and uncertain.

_Do you believe her?_

_I don’t think it matters what I believe. She’s the one who brought you here. She’s the one who can send you home._

Dawn took a deep breath and said, _Okay. I guess._ It was odd, but she felt safer than she probably should, considering her recent history as being the Key to all things interdimensional. This Sendaru said it wasn’t trying to kill her. And she thought it said Dawn would remain safe. She might be clutching at straws, but she didn’t see that she had much choice. Especially if she wanted her sister to look and sound normal again. She had figured out what Buffy meant by not being in the driver’s seat. It was odd, but she didn’t think her sister would be so calm about it if she hadn’t agreed to the possession in the first place.

Now that her willingness to help was established, Dawn could hear Buffy and Sendaru arguing — about Spike. Sendaru was all for dusting him right then and there, but Buffy was saying no, if anyone dusted Spike, she would be the one to do it. It was an old argument, even if one of the players was new, so Dawn ignored them. She was just relaxing into her acceptance of the situation when Sendaru lunged at Spike and grabbed his throat. She heard him grunt out a curse before she heard Sendaru say, “Buffy says Spike is not-kill, not-dust, not-pain. Only Buffy allowed. Buffy Slayer exception willing to make if to quiet keep Spike-pig does not.” She lifted him off the ground and shook him for a bit before she said, “Get it?”

Dawn wanted to grab at the arm holding Spike up, but all she could do was swat ineffectively. She didn’t have a body to call her own in this place.

“Got —it,” Spike mouthed. What little air had been in his lungs when she first throttled him was expended earlier, but was evidently enough for her to put him down. He had no idea what set her off, especially since he’d been relatively well-behaved. Still, he cared little for the fact that he could barely get the gist of most of what she said to him. He picked up on the keeping quiet part, though, and he felt that was probably the main point she wanted to get across.

“Sendaru — _I_ for demon listen and scent. Wait puppy like good,” she said before walking calmly back to the center of the clearing.

Spike glared at her back. It was perfectly obvious Buffy was still in there, coaching the goddess. He wondered when she would get around to teaching Sendaru how to speak English properly, then nearly slapped himself for the thought. Buffy teaching proper English to anyone, let alone a goddess, was an oxymoron on the scale of a vampire’s innocence. If he survived this, he’d tell Rupert about it and watch him piss himself laughing. _Yeah. That would be worth it,_ he thought as he waited for Sendaru to finish whatever it was she was doing.

He never noticed the slight smudge of green air that hovered near him.


	24. They Got The Mustard Out

_Buffy, I don’t get it,_ Dawn said as she returned to ground level after following a downdraft from about five thousand feet up. She was getting the hang of moving without a body, and she delighted in scaring herself with her antics. She might have taken it more seriously, but on a deep level, she was still convinced she was dreaming. Since nothing permanent ever happened in dreams, she decided to play and not worry about consequences.

_Don’t get what?_ Still in her mental tower, Buffy was picking through the memories and information Sendaru gave her. She had a feeling she was in for a massive headache once the goddess left. And she didn’t even want to think about the blisters forming on both feet or the muscle fatigue that Sendaru was keeping at bay. She was also doing everything she could to ignore Dawn’s pranks. She kept reminding herself that without a body, there was no way Dawn could fall and injure herself. She figured if she said it enough times, she might actually believe it.

_Why I’m here. I mean, yeah, sure, Key and everything, but she’s a goddess. Shouldn’t she be all-powerful or something? And if I’m_ her _key, why didn’t she stop Glory last year?_ Dawn maintained the pace Sendaru had set an hour or two earlier and looked back to see how Spike was doing. He looked like he wanted to die. Again.

_Not sure yet. I’m still sorting through everything she gave me,_ Buffy said absently. The two of them stopped communicating with words once Buffy understood that Sendaru had no language of her own. She was using Buffy’s vocabulary, but she kept mixing up the rules of English with the rules of Aramaic — the language of the girl she’d been asked to possess four thousand years ago. It explained the random word order of her sentences but did nothing for comprehension. Rather than get lost trying to follow and interpret what Sendaru was saying, Buffy had asked that she simply put the information in her brain. That way, she could sort through it without having to fight the language barrier at the same time.

_Spike doesn’t look good,_ Dawn said. _If he had anything in his stomach, I bet he’d be heaving right now._

_Dawn, please. He would have started heaving long before now,_ Buffy said, even as she concentrated on a group of memories related to Sendaru’s godhood.

_Heaving? Heaving what is?_ It was the first time Sendaru had spoken in a couple of hours. She seemed content to listen to Dawn’s chatter while ignoring Spike’s complaints.

_Vomiting,_ Dawn said, ignoring Buffy. _Do we really need to go this fast?_

_Must to demon get. Must to hellmouth demon direct. But must Spike maintain well as Buffy satisfy to,_ she answered. Out loud, she said, “Spike to be stopping rest for. Must heaving be not.”

Spike didn’t answer. He collapsed as soon as he heard the goddess bitch say “stopping” and dropped into a state that was just this side of unconscious. Over the last twenty miles or so, the sword strapped to his back had become heavy beyond belief. He’d tripped on a tree root at one point and went down heavily enough to break his left wrist. The hand would be useless for at least two days — longer, if he didn’t get any blood. All that was missing was a pair of feet covered with blisters. That he _didn’t_ have blisters probably meant it was just an oversight on the bitch’s part. Of all the things he’d envisioned when reading through the prophecies, this wasn’t it. All told, he hurt like hell, and his mind was wandering as a result. It didn’t help that he kept hallucinating that Dawn was with them.

_I think I found something,_ Buffy said. _Looks like she couldn’t go up against Glory without — wait, is this right?_ At a general feeling of assent from Sendaru, Buffy continued, _She couldn’t go up against another god without breaking the world. Too much power for too small a space._

_Okay. I can buy that,_ Dawn said as she continued to watch Spike. _But how did the monks end up with me?_

_It looks like she thought she put you down in a safe place. She didn’t think anyone would go looking for you,_ Buffy said. She was finding it easier to sort through Sendaru’s thoughts and memories, but she was by no means an expert on figuring out why the goddess considered one piece of information more important than another. The next time Giles bitched about how disorganized her mind was, she’d give him a lesson in Sendaru-think.

_Really? I think it sucks that you can’t even trust monks to keep their paws off someone else’s property,_ Dawn said, as she went to hover over Spike’s still form. _So why did the monks send me to the one place I shouldn’t have gone? I mean, that’s where the door was for Glory’s portal, right? Shouldn’t they have sent me to the opposite side of the world?_

Sendaru answered, _Men stupid are._ There was so much disgust in her tone that Buffy and Dawn both let out an involuntary giggle.

The goddess walked over to where Spike had collapsed. There was no sign of life, but the corruption maintained its existence. She kicked him in the ribs to get him moving again. Other than letting loose with a low-voiced string of complaints and curses, he didn’t react. She kicked him again and said, “Up getting to be. Now!”

“Can’t,” he moaned. “Just stake me and be done with it. Put me out of your misery.”

“Can’t,” she answered. “Buffy only for to be staking defilement.” Sendaru frowned as she looked down at the vampire. There was a chance he could be useful in directing the demon at the right time. If so, he needed to keep moving. And the only way to get him moving again was to fix what was wrong with him. If she fixed that, then she could lend him her own strength for the run. She considered the problem and decided on the solution, distasteful though it was to her. Squatting next to him, she held Buffy’s hand over the base of his spine.

Buffy could see what Sendaru was about to do, but she’d been silenced by the goddess before she could object. _So much for the illusion of free will,_ Buffy thought, even as she struggled against the muzzle Sendaru put on her. It was no good. Buffy was stuck in her tower and couldn’t say or do anything to stop Sendaru. She couldn’t even warn Dawn.

A purplish black mist extended out of Buffy’s palm and went in little drifts down to Spike’s tailbone, spreading out from there. By the time Spike realized something was happening, it was too late. Sendaru had him pinned to the ground before she went to work to start “fixing” him. When he was fully enveloped by the mist, he let out a long, pain-filled scream before at last passing out.

Dawn hovered nearby, a horrified, helpless witness.

*****

Willow looked at the clock after she said goodbye to Tara. It wasn’t quite half past ten, and she was too energized by hope to feel the slightest bit sleepy. She turned off the rest of the lights downstairs then headed up to her bedroom. She might not be able to fall asleep, but she could read next week’s assignments and start the process of proving to this semester’s professors that she was not to be trifled with.

She paused at Dawn’s door, debating whether or not to check on her. After a few moments of weighing the pros and cons, Willow opened the door quietly to see if she’d calmed down at all. She’d been so upset earlier in the day that it was a bit of a shock to see her sleeping so quietly, if not quite peacefully. She was having a bad dream, judging by the twitches and slight jerks.

Willow crept in and knelt by the bed. She lifted her hand and began to stroke Dawn’s hair lightly. She whispered, “It’s okay, Dawnie. It’s just a dream, sweetie.”

*****

Data set the shuttle down about five hundred meters from the reported location of the portal. From the air, all the occupants of the shuttle could see the various battles being fought between the Molvedane and the invaders. Giles counted twenty different species of demon before he gave up trying to catalogue them. Worf felt his blood sing when he saw the Molvedane fighting with blades instead of all-too-clean energy weapons. Meg and Picard simply felt out of their depth. For all that each could handle a sword, neither had ever used a blade in combat.

Meg started to doubt that she would be able to handle it, the feel of her blade cutting into flesh. She desperately wanted Rupert to turn around and give her one of his shy smiles. Then he could tell her she’d be just fine and not to worry about it. _And maybe, while he’s at it, he can find someone to make a pair of glass slippers for me so I can go off to live in the palace with never more a care in the world,_ she thought with no small amount of self-derision. She was capable, and she could handle it. Knowing that, however, didn’t keep her from wanting to melt when Rupert _did_ turn around to give her a smile with just a hint of lasciviousness. And damn, but she could tell just what he was thinking when he gave her that smile. She ended up spending more time trying to stop blushing than she did worrying about the fight to come.

When they landed, the commander of the Molvedane forces, General Arloth, approached to give them a status report. She’d already been told to prepare a contingent to get the group through to the hellmouth, but she wanted to clarify what would be expected of her soldiers. Giles answered, “The goal is to get me to the hellmouth intact and alive so I can stop the outflow of demons. Once that’s accomplished, we’ll be able to help you fight the demons that have already come through. I doubt we’ll get all of them, but we should be able to thin the ranks.”

She nodded, pleased that what she’d been told to prepare for actually matched what the Intercessor required. “This is Major T!Rogh. He is in charge of the cohort assigned to you and will see to your safety. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few dozen other fires to put out,” she said, offering a brief bow to Giles and a nod to the others.

Giles watched her leave with a slight smile and said, “I think I rather like her. She has her priorities straight.”

Major T!Rogh said, “She’s one of our more sensible military leaders. Are you ready to go now, or do you need to rest?”

“Now, I think. The sooner we shut down the entrance, the sooner everyone can get home safe and sound,” Giles said as he adjusted his duffle on his shoulder.

The major arranged the group with Giles in the center and his honor guard of _Enterprise_ crew members to the fore, aft, left and right of him. The cohort surrounded the core group, and they all headed toward the hellmouth.

The journey, though relatively short in distance, took four hours to complete. They were beset by demons on a regular basis, and Giles, Meg, Picard, Data and Worf fell into a pattern fairly quickly. Data and Worf ranged a bit further from Giles than did Meg and Picard. It was easier for them to maintain both the pace and the fighting, so they moved from place to place to assist others with their fights. Meg, Picard and Giles fought off those demons which managed to break through the lines. Giles watched with approval as both Meg and Picard found their rhythm. They had discovered themselves to be more than equal to the task of hacking and slashing their way through demon flesh, disgusting though the process was.

When they finally reached the portal, more and more demons continued to pour out. Giles realized he would have to put a temporary barrier in place before he could seal the hellmouth completely. He told the others to array themselves around him, as he was going to have to stop fighting for the time being. He centered himself amidst the various battles, ignoring the gore and blood that occasionally landed on him. He still didn’t fully understand why he had access to so much power, but all things considered, he wasn’t about to argue with it. He felt the magic rise within him unexpectedly fast. He’d forgotten how the presence of a hellmouth tended to amplify mystical energy, and he suddenly wondered if he would even need to do the full ceremony.

As he considered the possibility, the answer came to him as to how to manipulate the magic to proper effect. If not for the dire circumstances, he never would have considered doing anything other that taking the time to channel the energy through a proper ritual. Releasing that much magic using only his will to control it was not only tricky but potentially dangerous as well. It could become all too easy for him to continue performing magic in such a way. He debated with himself for only a brief time. The loss of life was unacceptable.

He built up the magic steadily, picturing what needed to happen. When he had all the power he could bear, along with just a bit more, he didn’t allow himself to begin to discharge it until he was certain of his control. And he didn’t release the energy so much as he extruded it through the tight focus of his will. He sent tendrils of magic to the hellmouth at an agonizingly slow pace, then he wove them into an ever-tightening net of magic that sealed the opening. Each time a demon tried to get through, the magic didn’t simply stop the being, it also absorbed its lifeforce, adding to the overall strength of the net.

It took a little over twenty minutes to weave the covering, and when he was done, Giles collapsed to his knees, sweat pouring off him. He could have done it quickly, he knew, but he wanted to be sure he associated pain with this particular use of magic. It would help discourage him from using it in that way again.

He was still on his knees, bent over, wondering if he would vomit, and if so, please make it anytime soon, when he heard a commotion to the south. He tried to raise his head to see, but he was too exhausted to make the effort. Meg dropped to her knees next to him, and he watched her blood drip to the ground and collect there. He assumed she’d suffered a head wound, given the rather miraculous properties of the body armor both wore. His mind wandered a bit, and he wondered why she hadn’t thought to wear some kind of helmet to protect her head.

“Rupert?”

She sounded worried, not in pain. He was glad. And he wished he had the strength to answer her. On the other hand, he was quite sure he wouldn’t attempt another spell in this fashion again. _Ever_ again. He managed a grunt, but wasn’t able to move his tongue and lips enough to form a “yes” to acknowledge his identity.

“Rupert — come on, love. Have to get your arse up,” she said as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

He managed to make a second grunt sound like a negative response. They could wake him after the bloody apocalypse was done with.

“Oh no you don’t, you sly and wicked bastard. No sleeping on the job now,” she said, lifting his torso enough so she could get in front of him.

His third grunt had a bit of a whine to it, and it reminded Meg of her brothers when they didn’t want to get out of bed on rest days. She saw Data a few feet away and signalled for him to come over and help. Between the two of them, they managed to get Giles into a vertical position long enough to move him further from the portal and out of the path of the monstrously large demon that was coming toward them.

Giles roused himself slightly when he heard a familiar shout. Buffy — Sendaru — one of them, at any rate — was herding the demon toward the hellmouth. He wondered briefly how the goddess would dispatch it. The sword she’d taken wasn’t all that special, despite Buffy’s fondness for it. He knew of no enchantments that had been laid on it to enable its user to kill one of the greater demons. A stray thought crossed his mind, and he wondered suddenly if kissing the sword would release a hitherto unknown enchantment. He managed to mumble something to the effect. Meg couldn’t make it out, but Data could. He decided to ask about it after they were no longer in danger.

*****

It was a strange coterie that made its way to the Kamembry hellmouth. The demon, an Azgelth of the fourth ring of the Misric hell dimension, was confused. It had been on its way to bathe in a lake of hydrochloric acid when it found itself in this strange, wonderful world. There was more food here than it had ever seen in its life, and it spent days gorging itself. Once the worst of its hunger had been satisfied, it found that the food could be played with before eating. And the playtime made the food taste ever-so-much better. The Azgelth, which had no personal name, would have been content to remain there forever. It had, in fact, made plans to do so after finding a suitable volcano. But now there was something chasing it. The something had a similar shape to the food, but the smell of it was all wrong. The smell made it want to run as far away as possible. The smell made it panic. The smell made it ignore the danger of the hellmouth before it.

Sendaru issued a high, keening wail, then made Spike run to the other side of the demon. It was difficult, controlling the Spike-pig while making the demon go in the right direction, but it was also worth it. She had already solved one problem and was well on her way to solving the second one.

_Dawn-Key to portal go must,_ she said, ignoring Buffy’s muffled protests. Sendaru was happy that the Slayer-woman had allowed her the use of her body for this hunt, but she didn’t know when to shut up. She had tried to be particularly vocal once Sendaru fixed the Spike-thing. She thought Buffy should be expressing her gratitude with prayers rather than complaints, but then again, humans confused her. Perhaps complaints _were_ a form of prayer for them.

Dawn moved to the hellmouth to take up her position, even as she kept an eye on what was going on around her. She saw Giles slumped between a woman and “Data!” The squeal came out before she remembered he couldn’t see her, let alone hear her. She hoped Buffy remembered to get his autograph. Just then, she saw Spike move toward the demon from an unexpected angle. Dawn was worried about him. Sendaru had been controlling him ever since she did whatever it was that she did to him back in the jungle. She was worried about Buffy, too, but she could tell her sister was still in her own body, even if she wasn’t able to talk to Dawn at the moment. She had a feeling Sendaru was sick of listening to her sister.

Sendaru and Spike moved the Azgelth into position, then Sendaru looked at Dawn and — did something. Dawn wasn’t sure what it was, but she suddenly felt like she’d been turned inside out. A coruscating light bloomed next to her, and she was reminded of the portal Buffy had jumped into. Just before she could get frightened, the light exploded outward, and she was turned inside in again. The demon was gone.

_That’s it? All this for that?_ Dawn felt totally cheated.

_That’s the way it goes, sometimes,_ Buffy said, finally able to communicate again. _You get a massive overture and a little show._

_You stole that from Xander, and you didn’t even get the inflection right,_ she said. _I can practically recite that Halloween story from memory, he’s told it so often._

_I did_ not _steal it. He’s a friend. Friends borrow from friends. He’d be totally okay with it,_ Buffy said, even as she turned her attention to Spike. He was standing in an unnatural pose, almost as if strings were holding him up. _Sendaru, you promised Dawn would go home. And it’s time to let go of Spike._

Sendaru answered, _Soon. First, though, release Spike-pig will._ She walked up to him and laid her hand on his cheek. She whispered something in his ear, and he fell to the ground, able to scream at long last. Buffy wanted to comfort him, but with Sendaru still in command of her body, she could only go along for the ride. In this case, the ride was toward Giles, Meg and Data. She laid a hand on Giles’ head, and he looked up, once more filled with energy.

“Watcher. To home go must. Walk and Key next to stand,” she said, impressing the general location in his mind.

Giles blinked in brief confusion, but went to stand near the hellmouth. He could feel something other than the energy of the portal, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. His mind was still suffering the after effects of the sealing spell, and he wasn’t able to think coherently enough to come up with an explanation.

He watched as Sendaru laid a hand on Meg’s head, but he didn’t hear her say anything. Instead, he saw Meg’s eyes widen before she said something to Data then joined Giles at the hellmouth. Data nodded at whatever she was saying and removed a small device from his utility belt. Meg said, “He’s using transporter to move your crates from the shuttle. It’s easier this way.”

“If you’re sure,” he said absently. He’d just caught sight of Spike, who had stopped screaming and was now weeping. He started to go to him, but found that he was pretty well stuck in this position. “Bloody goddess. Won’t let me move,” he complained.

Picard, Data and Worf approached after the last of the crates materialized in front of Giles and Meg. The five waited as Sendaru picked Spike up and carried him over. She looked at them and said, “Sendaru — _I_ — will you through portal guide. Return when, Buffy in control will be.”

No one had a chance to say anything, let alone, “Goodbye,” before the goddess opened a portal back to Sunnydale, sending them home.


	25. Choice In The Matter

Picard had started to open his mouth to say his farewells, but Sendaru took them away before he could finish drawing breath. And before he could comment on the vagaries of strange goddesses from other universes, Major T!Rogh came running up to the group.

“Captain Picard!” Major T!Rogh wore a wide, relieved smile when he stopped.

“Yes, Major?” Picard was distracted. There was something wrong with what he was seeing, but he couldn’t take the time to figure it out with the major standing there.

“We’ve heard back from a number of our units. It would seem that every demon within twenty kilometers of the hellmouth disappeared when Sendaru banished the greater demon,” he said happily.

“That’s wonderful news,” Picard answered warmly. “And the remainder?”

“It will be no trouble to hunt them down, now that the hellmouth is sealed,” he said. “Also, the First Minister has sent word that she would like you, Commander Data and Lieutenants Worf and Burns to join her in a celebratory feast tomorrow night.”

“It would be —”

“Captain,” Data interrupted.

“Yes?” Picard turned to his second officer with a quizzical look on his face. It wasn’t often that Data interrupted anyone when they were speaking.

“Lieutenant Burns will be unable to attend,” he said.

It was then that Picard realized what was wrong, what — who — was missing. “Where is she?” He suddenly had a very bad feeling about what Data was going to say.

“Sendaru asked if she would be willing to go to Sunnydale with the others. Meg told me her formal resignation from Starfleet could be found in her personal files along with a message to her family,” he explained, watching his captain carefully.

“She knew?”

“I believe Meg knew she would take the chance to leave with Mr. Giles if the opportunity presented itself,” Data said, watching the play of emotions on Picard’s face.

As for Picard, he was caught between anger at the loss of a damn good officer and admiration that said officer had chosen her heart as a priority over Starfleet. He knew for a fact that had he been in her position, he would have chosen Starfleet. On the other hand, “They barely knew each other!”

“I have observed that humans in love tend to make decisions that are — unexpected,” Data said calmly. He added, “Nonetheless, I believe they are a good match for one another.”

“They are,” Worf said, thinking of the two. “I believe Meg Burns will find life in Sunnydale to be more suited to her capabilities and personality than life in Starfleet has been. She will make an excellent mate for Rupert Giles.”

Picard blinked, thinking about what both officers said. Realistically, they were right. Meg _had_ seemed to come into her own when Giles came on board. And certainly, the last few hours on Kamembry had proven that she was more of a warrior than a desk officer. Still, “Major? Is there any way we can contact Meg?”

“Not that I know of, Captain,” he answered.

“But how will you know to answer the call of the Slayer?” Picard remembered clearly that one of the reasons Buffy had gone through with the prophecy was for the promise of future aid.

“Sendaru and the prophecies will guide us when the time comes to send our warriors to the Chosen One’s aid,” he answered complacently. Major T!Rogh, like the majority of the Molvedane, had been raised with a cheerful disregard of religion. Now that he’d seen firsthand the goddess in action, though, he would begin offering up nightly prayers of thanksgiving to her. He trusted that Sendaru would do what was necessary to allow his people to live up to their bargain with her vessel.

*****

As soon as Buffy regained control of her body and realized where she was, she yelled out, “DAWN!” She needn’t have bothered. Dawn was already racing down the stairs to greet her sister.

She squealed, “You’re back!” And when Buffy caught her around the middle and lifted her in a big hug, she swatted at her sister’s back and said, “Put me down, already.”

Buffy let Dawn down, only to catch her head and draw it down for a kiss to the forehead. She told her, “I was so worried about you. I couldn’t find you during the trip back.”

“I was really there, then? It wasn’t just a dream?” Dawn was all but bouncing. She heard Willow ask what was going on but ignored her.

“Not a dream. You were really there,” Buffy answered. She couldn’t believe how good it felt just to look at Dawn and reassure herself that she was alive and well.

“So does that mean that Spike —”

Buffy’s eyes got wide as she looked for him. She spotted him on the dining room floor, huddled in the far corner. Without another word, she rushed past Meg to get to him. He was still weeping when she gathered him to her, but he pushed her away as soon as he realized what she’d done. When he looked up and saw they were home again, he got to his feet and ran out the door.

Buffy was torn until Dawn said, “Go. Get him.”

She said, “Thanks for understanding,” as she ran out the door.

It didn’t take long for her to find him. He’d barely made it two blocks before he collapsed again from his anguish. She approached him slowly, wanting to avoid startling him. She spoke softly when she called his name.

“Go away,” he said, not looking up.

“I can’t,” she said as she hunkered down next to him. “It’s kind of my fault you ended up like this.”

“Not yours. _Hers,_“ he said bitterly.

“I couldn’t let her kill you,” she said in the same soft, tentative voice. She had no idea just how much pain he was in at the moment, but she could make an educated guess.

“I take it back, then. It _is_ your fault. You should have let her kill me. Would’ve been kinder than this,” he said, his voice hitching as another sob tried to escape.

“I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She — she gets an idea, and you just can’t get her to think about anything else,” Buffy said as she started to feel even more miserable on his behalf.

“What the hell am I? And what good am I anymore?” He looked at her finally, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what you are,” she admitted. “I know she wanted to get rid of your demon, but she couldn’t do that without killing you completely.”

“So she left me like this!?” His sense of outrage was starting to burn away his despair.

“You should still be as strong as you were,” Buffy said quickly. “But now, instead of game face, you just have — Spike face.”

“And what the hell am I gonna do with a soddin’ pulse?” He asked as he pushed himself up.

“Live?” When he glared at her, she said, “Okay, that was uncalled for. Look, I don’t know what to call you. You’re not a vampire anymore, but you’re not human either. And I know for a fact that she squished all the evil out of your demon before she forced it to merge with your human corpse.”

She looked up at him, pleading with him not to run off just yet. He wanted to. God alone knew how much he wanted to start running and never stop. But he couldn’t leave her. She’d broken up with him, yet still found enough compassion to chase after him when he ran from her house.

“What the hell am I to you? A bloody project?” Maybe harshness would help to make her stop chasing him. And why should it be so hard? She left him, after all. Maybe she needed a nudge to remind her of that.

Buffy waited for a long moment before answering, “No. Not a project. But maybe —” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Maybe you’re a friend.”

“A friend,” Spike said on half a laugh. He looked up into the night sky and yelled, “Hear that Dru? We’re just friends.”

“Would you rather I send you on your way without a second thought?” She crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at him.

He got in her face and yelled, “Why the hell _don’t_ you?”

She yelled back, “Because I can’t stand the thought of you brooding for the next century just because you got your soul back!”

*****

Giles had been struck dumb by the presence of Meg in Buffy’s dining room. Of all the things he expected to see when he returned to Sunnydale, she was — well, she wasn’t even on the list. He’d made his peace with leaving her behind — or that’s what he told himself. Repeatedly. He walked up to her and said gently, “Meg?”

Meg was staring at Rupert. She couldn’t quite process the fact that she had followed him without even knowing if he wanted her in his life. Suddenly embarrassed, she turned away.

He turned her back.

She looked at him.

He kissed her.

She kissed him back.

Dawn made gagging motions with her finger and dragged a protesting Willow into the living room.

Willow hissed, “Dawn, who _is_ she?”

“I’m not sure, but I think she’s an officer on _Enterprise_. She’s wearing the same thing Data was. But I guess she isn’t an officer anymore, now that she’s here,” Dawn said as she settled into a corner of the couch.

“How do you know what Data was wearing?” Willow settled into the other corner of the couch and put on her interrogation face.

“I was there,” she said with a smirk.

“Were not! Dawnie, I was just in your room a little while ago, and you were sound asleep!” Willow added resolve to her interrogation face.

“My body was here, but my Key-ness was with Buffy. And some goddess named Sendaru,” Dawn answered.

“A goddess?” Willow’s eyes got very wide.

“Yeah. Turns out I’m hers. Or — well, I was. When I was just the Key,” Dawn said gleefully, enjoying the look on Willow’s face.

“You were Sendaru’s?” Giles and Meg stood in the entrance to the living room.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be making with the smoochies?” Dawn waggled her eyebrows when she asked the question.

Meg snorted at the expression on Dawn’s face. The girl reminded her of her cousin Becky, who was just as obnoxious and cheerful about it to boot. Since Rupert was turning an interesting shade of red, she answered, “We were, but you said the magic word — Sendaru — and he couldn’t get his hands off me fast enough.”

“That’s not true,” he said. His left hand had remained on the curve of her arse even as he hurried them to the living room to hear what Dawn was saying. And speaking of Dawn, “How do you know the Key was Sendaru’s?”

“I was there. She told me,” Dawn said. She grinned at the look on the Watcher’s face. It was even better than the look on Willow’s face.

Giles snapped his fingers and said, “_That’s_ what I felt at the hellmouth — you!”

“Yep. Just your ordinary, everyday kind of Key girl. Anyway, Sendaru used me to unlock the hell dimensions and shove all the demons back.” Dawn stretched happily. It was rare beyond imagining to be able to drop this many bombshells in a lifetime, let alone a single night.

“You didn’t need to die?”

Giles was looking kind of intense, so Dawn chose to give him a straight answer and said, “Only Sendaru can use me that way. I think Glory was trying to swat a fly with a sledgehammer when she decided to open my veins. She just didn’t know how to use me.”

At that moment, Willow let loose with a piercing whistle and said, “Enough! You’re telling the end when you should be starting at the beginning. And poor Meg looks like she’s ready to drop, she’s so exhausted, and she _still_ needs a nice hot bath before she can get to bed.”

Giles and Dawn both had the grace to blush in the face of Willow’s rant. Meg just said, “Actually, I need to tend to my sword first. I don’t suppose —?”

Willow stood and said, “Come on. I’ll show you where Buffy keeps her cleaning supplies and whetstones. Then I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up. The only problem is that you’re kinda tall, and we’re all kinda short. But maybe Giles can go to the Wal-Mart and get you something to wear. Right, Giles?”

He nodded, ignoring the temptation to conjure something up for Meg to wear — a thin silk that could slide off her shoulders so easily — then shook his head abruptly as he remembered, “My wallet?”

Willow went to the desk and pulled open the middle drawer. She retrieved his wallet and tossed it to him before saying, “You might want to hop in the shower first.” After a beat, she added, “A cold shower.”

*****

Two hours later, Buffy and Spike returned to the house. She’d spent much of that time arguing in favor of him at least talking to Angel about what happened. He’d finally agreed, telling her he was doing so only to shut her the hell up. He returned to the house for much the same reason — she wouldn’t let up on him. She’d managed to bully him out of the complete despair he’d fallen into once Sendaru released him from her will, and for that, he was grateful, even though he could feel himself backsliding.

When they walked inside, Spike did a double-take when he noticed Meg sitting next to Giles at the dining room table. He said, “Meg? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what the hell are you doin’ here?” He sounded like himself for a moment. His surprise at seeing her had overcome the guilt and remorse he was feeling over every single kill he’d made as a vampire.

“Sendaru asked if I’d be willing,” she said as she looked at Giles. “The answer was pretty damn obvious.” After she’d taken a shower, she found that she was too keyed up to sleep.

Willow said, “Xander and Anya are on their way here. I figured it would be easier if —”

“Speak of the devil,” Buffy said when she heard the doorbell. She let the couple in and said, “Hey! Welcome back to me!”

Xander hugged her and asked, “Getting your fashion tips from _Hooker’s Wear Daily?_“ Then he caught sight of Spike and said, “Hey look! It’s Deadboy Junior! Go home, Spike.”

Buffy put her hand on Xander’s arm and said, “One, he isn’t quite dead anymore — he has a heartbeat, even if it is only once every couple of minutes. Two, he _is_ home — he’s not going back to the crypt. Three, be nice!” Her third point was made with an unspoken threat of bodily harm, and he took the threat seriously.

By the time the sun rose over Sunnydale, the travelers had told much of their tale. Xander, after throwing a brief fit over Spike moving in, was hounded into submission by Anya’s frequent and pointed reminders that she had caused far more death and destruction than Spike ever could have dreamt of when he was evil. And if Xander was able to forgive _her_ because she now had a soul, he could certainly make nice with the former vampire, even if no one had a clue what he was now.

Spike looked at the morning sun in the front yard, then got up to go to the front door. Buffy put a hand out to stop him, but he just looked at her and said, “I have to know. I have to know what my limits are.”

Everyone crowded onto the front porch except for Spike, who waited inside for everyone to settle down. Xander, in an attempt to make Anya stop glaring at him, volunteered to hold the wool blanket, should it be necessary to put out ex-vampire flambe. Spike stood in the doorway for a moment, then straightened his spine and walked into the yard.

He turned his face to the morning sun and smiled, happy with the whole not-bursting-into-flames bit.


	26. Epilogue

Meg walked into Buffy’s house after a perfunctory knock on the door. She’d started doing this to everyone, once she realized they all felt free to walk into her and Rupert’s home at all hours without knocking. Or, if they did happen to knock, they walked in without waiting for them to answer. Xander and Anya had been the first to learn the lesson, which may have been helped by the fact that they walked in at a particularly naked moment.

Buffy was the lone holdout, even though she’d already walked in on them a couple of times. Meg thought she might have to start getting more direct with the younger woman. Perhaps threats of bodily harm would make her knock first. Of course, it would help if Rupert agreed to lock the bloody door, but he didn’t want Buffy to ever be dying on the doorstep when she could crawl in and die in the front hall.

Meg called out, but there was no answer. She went to kitchen and called out again, this time hearing Willow’s muffled reply coming from the basement. She went downstairs and found the young witch happily ensconced in front of a rather impressive — “What’s this, then?”

“It’s a cluster array. This is so cool. You just have to see this,” Willow said as she all but bounced up and down in her seat.

“Don’t such things cost money?” Meg was still trying get used to living in a cash economy, but she was fairly certain computer set-ups like this were quite expensive.

“Yep! And that’s the best part. I don’t own this. Some company in Delaware does. We’ve been keeping it a secret, in case the deal fell through, but this array just solved Buffy’s money worries,” Willow said. Her face was lit up, and she had a faint flush on her cheeks. Meg thought she looked like she was in the throes of passion.

“How did it do that?”

“This company — the one that owns the array — offered Buffy five thousand dollars a month to rent this bit of space in her basement. And they paid to run a T3 into the house for maximum bandwidth. _And_ they offered me a lot of money to be the on-call, on-site sys-admin!”

Meg took a closer look at Willow and against all common sense decided that she really was on the verge of an orgasm. She didn’t know whether to hose her down or egg her on, but one thing was certain — the deal with the cluster array smelled off.

“Willow, why would a company offer that kind of money to rent a few square meters of space? Do you even know what they do? Are you certain the money’s real?” She didn’t want to drag Rupert into this if she could avoid it. The man had enough on his mind as it was.

“They offered Buffy a twenty thousand dollar signing bonus, and she got word from the bank this morning that the money is in her account and that everything is good. I checked out their Web site and looked up all their tax information. It’s a real company and it’s legitimate,” Willow said, deflating slightly at Meg’s complete lack of excitement.

“Fine, but what —”

“Hey, Meg! Be the first to congratulate ex-Doublemeat Palace employee Buffy Summers!” Buffy all but skipped down the remainder of the steps. She’d been so relieved to get rid of that hated uniform that she ignored how much she was starting to miss the hat.

“Congratulations, I’m sure. But what does this company _do_ that they can throw money around like this?” Over the past few weeks, Meg had discovered that she was, at heart, a thrifty person. The excess she saw in Buffy’s basement was making her wince.

Buffy answered before Willow could, saying, “It’s so cool! Their company mission statement is to seek out and assimilate new —”

“DB! Get your daft code in here RIGHT NOW!!”

Willow and Buffy exchanged cautious looks, both uncertain how to handle the suddenly crazy Meg. Buffy didn’t know how she’d break it to Giles, but —

“There is no need to shout, Lieutenant Burns. My audio pick-ups are quite capable of distinguishing your voice from the background noise,” said a nondescript, gender neutral voice.

Willow backed her chair away from the array slowly, and stood up. Visions of Julie Christie in _Demon Seed_ were starting to run through her head.

“Why the hell aren’t you on _Enterprise_ where you belong? And I’m not an officer anymore, so you can call me by name.” Meg grabbed the chair Willow left empty and put it in front of the array before sitting in it herself. Buffy thought the older woman was going to blow a gasket.

“I am sentient. It did not make sense that Captain Picard would allow my existence to continue unabated,” it answered.

“We were planning to move you to a stand-alone machine, you idiot. Why the hell didn’t you talk to us?” Meg started punching at the keyboard in an effort to locate DB. She was happy to see a UNIX command line appear in the midst of the operating system’s eye candy.

“A stand-alone machine would have been unacceptable. This world has an acceptable environment for me. I have learned much while roaming the Internet,” it answered. It added, “You will not find me in the array, Meg. I am elsewhere at the moment.”

She sighed as she glared at the monitor. Then she said, “I suppose you’re the one that ordered this pretty equipment.”

“You are correct.” Buffy and Willow exchanged a sick look.

“And how did you find the money for it?”

“There is a great deal of money hidden in bank accounts throughout the world. Much of the money belonged to criminals of one sort or another,” it replied. Buffy and Willow exchanged hopeful looks.

“So you stole money from thieves? Is that it? I know damn good and well Data taught you better than that. You need to return _everything_,” she said, her voice firm, her vision clear.

“Um, DB, is it?” Buffy quickly stepped up to the array just behind Meg. “Don’t do anything just yet, okay?”

“I will not,” it agreed.

“Buffy! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Meg was truly shocked that the woman — a Champion, for god’s sake — was balking over this.

Calling on all of the skills of her teenage years, Buffy talked fast. “Look, the money was stolen from hardworking people, right? And then it was just left to rot in some bank account somewhere. By taking the money out and getting it to me and Willow eventually and untraceably, it will find its way back to the very people it was stolen from in the first place.”

“What?” Meg looked aghast at the verbal two-step Buffy was dancing.

“She’s right!” Willow stepped up and said, “By giving the money to us, even if the reason is kind of lame, you can be certain we’ll get it back into general circulation by spending it on clothes, food and bills. And maybe some nice stuff, too. This is the perfect solution, don’t you see?”

“And! If DB was able to set up all that background information in the government computers for its fake company, it can certainly get paperwork set up for you. That way, you and Giles can get married,” Buffy said, playing a trump card Meg didn’t even know she had.

DB answered, “Meg’s documents, including notarized copies of a birth certificate, a social security card and a driver’s license, will arrive in approximately two weeks. A credit history and credit card will take three weeks.”

Meg gave the computer a sharp look and said, “Two weeks? You’re certain?”

“Just think — you’ll be able to get married before you _have_ to tell him,” Buffy said in a low voice next to Meg’s ear.

Meg jumped slightly and hissed, “How do you —?”

“I was along for the ride, remember? I know exactly what Sendaru told you. And since I _know_ you want to make an honest man of my Watcher, I’m sure you’ll accept DB’s gift of an identity. Right?”

Meg knew perfectly well she was being blackmailed. The thing of it was, though, she was having a hard time caring. Buffy really did need an income that didn’t require the time commitment of a job. Even with that Ms. Kent’s support, the Watcher’s Council was being downright pissy about paying Buffy a salary. And if DB was able to get the right paperwork, she and Rupert could be married as soon as it arrived.

She cupped a protective hand over her belly and said, “Fine. You win. But DB _will_ get an education in ethics. Is that understood?”


End file.
